Here's Looking at You, Red
by E Kelly
Summary: Elseworlds- Bludhaven, the last free city in a conquered America.  A great Resistance leader is hunted down while an ex-freedom fighter discovers that the fundamental things still apply, as time goes by.  Based on 'Casablanca'.


Disclaimer: This is an adaptation of an adaptation of work I have absolutely no permission to use, but I just couldn't resist when I realized how well the parts fit. If this was for money I would be sued faster than you could say "slimy corporate lawyer", since Warner Bros. owns, well, pretty much everything in this story. But it's not for money and, anyway, you can't get blood from a turnip as my grandmama used to say.  
  
Continuity: Elseworlds  
  
Email me - I love comments - good or bad. Ekelly1701@aol.com  
  
  
HERE'S LOOKING AT YOU, RED  
  
Based on 'Casablanca' by Julius J. Epstein, Phillip G. Epstein and Howard Koch, which was based on the play 'Everybody Goes to Rick's' by Murray Burnett, and Joan Alison  
  
Adapted by E Kelly  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
With the coming of the third World War, many eyes in imprisoned North America looked hopefully, or desperately, toward the last free city on the continent, Bludhaven. From here, the fortunate ones could obtain - through money or influence or luck - exit visas and scurry overseas, to safety and freedom from the mighty Reichsarmy. The others remain in Bludhaven, where they wait... and wait... and wait...  
  
* * * * *   
  
Bludhaven Prefect of Police Timothy Drake watched as the officers deplaned onto the tarmac in their stiff, dark uniforms. He was a slim man with dark hair and quick eyes that tended to see easily through other people's facades - perhaps because his own was so cleverly performed. In fact, now, as he watched he made certain his expression was one of utter nonchalance. But his sharp eyes examined Major Harvey Dent, giving curt orders to his underlings before turning to search the gathered crowd.  
  
Drake stepped forward, "Major Dent. The independent government of Bludhaven welcomes you."  
  
They saluted each other formally.  
  
Dent was tall, with sharp features and square shoulders. Tim could see the cold-bloodedness in his hooded eyes.  
  
"Thank you, Captain Drake. I am pleased to be here."  
  
They turned and walked side by side towards the waiting line of cars.  
  
"You may find the climate in Bludhaven a trifle uncomfortable, Major," Drake said, casually.  
  
"We of the Reichsarmy must get used to all climates, from Canada to the South Pacific. But perhaps you were not referring to the weather?"  
  
Drake shrugged with a small smile, "What else?"  
  
Dent maintained his coolly professional demeanor, but his hard eyes flashed briefly, "What have you learned of our murdered couriers? What has been done?"  
  
"Realizing the importance of the matter, I have had my men round up twice the usual number of suspects," Drake remarked. Then he added, "We know already who the murderer is."  
  
"Good. Is he in custody?"  
  
"No," Tim said, gazing off with something like boredom. "Don't worry - tonight he'll be at Dick's. Everybody comes to Dick's."  
  
Dent's eyes narrowed just a bit, then he said off-handedly, "Yes, I've heard of this café - and it's proprietor."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Nights in Bludhaven, the streets are busier than during the day. Everyone had on them the strange madness of a world torn by war, where life and death walk so tightly embraced that they cannot be separated. There was desperation in people's eyes, desperation to live as much as they could while they could. Too many refugees packed the city's streets, too many dislocated, frightened, hopeless people, all trying, trying to escape - and if they couldn't do so physically, then they would through drink and gambling and sex - anything to forget that evil ... was winning.  
  
The largest nightclub in the city sat on the downtown waterfront, not far from the airport, where planes carried the lucky few far, far from devastated America. Those trapped in Bludhaven, young and old, rich and poor, black, white, yellow and red - everybody came to Dick's Café Americain.  
  
There, among the large potted ferns, in the shadowed corners of the club, desperate people did business with the vultures feeding off the carrion left by the Reichsarmy.  
  
Donna Troy, a shapely brunette and head of the wait staff, moved past the tables and whispered conversations, paying little mind to their content even as she heard them.  
  
"Never gonna get out of Bludhaven, never. Gonna die here, die..."  
  
"Two thousand, lady - that's all it's worth." "But that is not enough to buy visas for my whole family..." "Take it or leave it."  
  
"The boat will be here, at the cove, two miles south. Bring the money - *in cash*..."  
  
Reaching the guarded door in the back of the main room, she nodded, and the guard opened it so she could pass through with her loaded tray. Inside an even more crowded room awaited, people packed around the roulette wheel and craps table. She delivered her tray of drinks and passed through the room, her eyes checking the glasses of the patrons.  
  
A gesture caught her eye and she moved to an obviously well-heeled middle-aged woman and her party of six at a central table.  
  
"Would you please ask Dick if he'd join us for a drink?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Madam," Donna smiled pleasantly. "Dick never drinks with customers."  
  
"Perhaps," one of the men spoke up, "if you informed him I am head of the second largest bank in Metropolis?"  
  
Donna laughed lightly, "I'm afraid that wouldn't impress Dick. The head of the *largest* bank in Metropolis is now the pastry chef in our kitchen." The group looked bemused and a little insulted. Donna leaned in and finished with a flourish, "And his father is the bus-boy." That got them - they laughed and she called a waitress over to refill their glasses.  
  
A runner crossed the room with a cheque to record the cash being turned in from the gambling tables. He approached the figure sitting alone at a small table with a chess board. The boy placed the piece of paper beside the board. Hardly looking at it, the man picked up a pen and wrote across it - O.K. Dick - and handed it back. Then he returned to contemplating the game pieces.  
  
He was a younger man than might be expected to run as large an establishment as this. Handsome, with jet black hair, a finely featured face and a strong build under his tailored black suit. But his blue eyes seemed too old for his face, too deep, and too full of pain.  
  
The door into the room opened. He looked up at the guard and the couple standing beside him. Dick gave a small nod and the guard gestured them into the room. Just as he was closing the door, another man approached.  
  
"Pardon me, sir," the guard said, holding up a hand to stop him. The man flashed a hundred dollar bill. The guard turned to Dick, who shook his head, just once. "I am sorry, sir," the guard informed him. "This is a private room."  
  
"Of all the nerve!" The man was shocked. "I know this is the casino. You can't keep me out!"  
  
Dick was at the door. "What's the problem?" he asked the guard easily.  
  
"Sir, this gentleman..."  
  
"I," the man interrupted, "have been in every gambling house from Central City to Metropolis. If you think you're going to keep me out of a saloon like this, you are wrong!" He looked up irritably, as someone shouldered his way through the door.  
  
"Excuse me," the new arrival said with an arrogant grin, daring the man to start something - but he wasn't interested. So the guy turned his cocky attitude on Dick.  
  
" 'Lo Dick."  
  
Dick only nodded - with even less interest as the man passed through. He looked back at the angry patron.  
  
"Your money's good at the bar," he said quietly.  
  
"Do you know who I am?!" the man practically shouted.  
  
Dick didn't move, but his eyes fixed on him and the man stiffened, almost stepping back. "I do," Dick said, a slightly dangerous tone to his voice, "You're lucky the bar's open to you." The man seemed to want to protest further, but he looked at Dick's easy stance and sensed ... huffing indignantly, he stomped off.  
  
Dick turned back to look over the room as the guard pulled the door closed, and found himself face to face with the grinning man who'd come through a moment ago.  
  
"You know, Dick, watching you just now," he gestured at the closed door, "one would think you've been doing this all your life."  
  
"What makes you think I haven't?" Dick said, not looking at him as he moved back to his table.  
  
"Nothing," the guy said, laughing with that same irritating arrogance. He followed Dick and sat across from him, drawing a brief stare, before Dick turned his eyes back to the chess pieces.  
  
Sitting sideways in the chair, one arm thrown over its back, he smiled triumphantly out over the room. "Shame about those Reichsarmy couriers, isn't it?" he asked.  
  
Dick didn't look up. "They got a break," he said curtly. "Yesterday they were just couriers - today they're the honored dead."  
  
"Cynic," the guy pronounced, then added with exaggerated tact, "if you'll forgive me for saying so."  
  
"I forgive you," Dick moved a piece and continued examining the board.  
  
"You hate me, don't you?" he asked Dick.  
  
"If I gave you any thought, Nyerstad, I probably would." Dick started putting the pieces back in place to begin a new game.  
  
"You don't like my business, huh?" Nyerstad said as a challenge. "Where's your heart, man? Think of all the poor saps who would rot here if I didn't help them, provide them with exit visas."  
  
Dick glanced at him, "For a price, Nyerstad. For a price."  
  
"What about the dregs who can't afford Drake's price? I get it for them for half. Is that so - parasitic?" Again, a challenge.  
  
"I don't mind a parasite," Dick said mildly. "I object to a cut-rate one."  
  
Nyerstad chuckled finally, nodding, knowing he'd made the right decision in this, "Well, after tonight, Dick, my boy - I am leaving this hell-hole town."  
  
"Who'd you bribe to get your visa - Drake or yourself?" Dick still kept his eyes on the board.  
  
"Myself. My price was much more reasonable." Leaning forward and lowering his voice, he reached into his jacket pocket and carefully brought out a folded envelope, which he laid on the table.  
  
"Look, Dick," he said. "Do you know what this is? Something even you have never seen before. Letters of transit signed by General Luthor. Cannot be rescinded, or even questioned. Tonight I'll be selling these for more money ... then Bludhaven will be seeing my ass - on its way to Europe."  
  
Dick had looked at the mention of the letters of transit, and now his keen gaze was examining Nyerstad as it had the game board a moment earlier.  
  
Nyerstad spoke even more quietly, "Listen, Dick. I got lots of friends in Bludhaven, but somehow - the fact that you hate me makes you the only one I trust. Keep these for me."  
  
"How long?" He kept his eyes on the other man.  
  
"An hour, maybe two."  
  
"I don't want them here overnight."  
  
"No way. You'll keep them?" Dick picked up the envelope and Nyerstad smiled. "I knew I could trust you." He stood. Picking up a drink from a passing waiter's tray, he said to the server, "I'm expecting a couple of people. If anyone asks for me, I'll be right here." The waiter nodded and moved off.  
  
Nyerstad knocked back the drink and grinned at Dick.  
  
"Well, Dick, I hope you're a little more impressed with me now. I think I'll share my good luck with your roulette wheel," he turned to move away.  
  
Dick rose quickly, "Wait." Nyerstad stopped and looked back. Dick moved slowly around the table as the other man faced him. Meeting his eyes steadily, Dick said, "I heard a rumor those Reichsarmy couriers were carrying letters of transit."  
  
Nyerstad's grin broadened, "Yeah. Funny coincidence, ain't it?"  
  
"You're right, Nyerstad," Dick said, a small, tight smile coming to his lips as his eyes bored into the other man's. "I am a little more - impressed - " and the word was spoken with vicious sarcasm, "with you." Keeping his gaze on Nyerstad, who seemed to shrink a little from it, Dick moved past him.  
  
Nyerstad watched him nervously as he headed across the room, then realized he'd flinched in public and drew himself up into his usual arrogant stance.  
  
Then he went looking for another drink.  
  
* * * * *  
  
In the main room, the piano tinkled merrily as the singer directed the crowd in a boisterous lead and response tune, everyone participating enthusiastically. Dick moved through the shadowed room toward the spotlighted singer. As he passed the back of the piano, just outside the light, he slipped the envelope with the letters under the instrument's top in a movement too quick for anyone to see. Then he continued over to lean against the bar.  
  
He'd barely settled when an enormous man approached, carrying his seven feet and 300 pounds with ease.  
  
"Hello, Dick."  
  
"Evening, Desmond," he said. "How's business at the Blockbuster?"  
  
"Fine," Desmond said. "I'd like to buy your café."  
  
"It's not for sale," Dick's eyes moved easily over the crowd.  
  
"You haven't heard my offer."  
  
"It's not for sale at any price."  
  
"What do you want for Alfred?"  
  
Dick raised an eyebrow and looked at him, "I don't buy or sell human beings."  
  
Desmond chuckled, "Too bad. That's Bludhaven's leading commodity. Refugees alone we could make a fortune. If you worked with me through the black market ..."  
  
"Why don't you run your business and let me run mine?"  
  
"Suppose we ask Alfred. Perhaps he'd like to make a change."  
  
"Suppose we do," Dick said, leading him over to the piano.  
  
"Alfred," Dick said, coming around to lean on the piano back, "Desmond wants you to come work for him at the Blockbuster."  
  
"Thank you, sir," the thin, balding man said politely, in a crisp London accent, still playing a low tune. "I am quite happy here."  
  
"He'll pay you twice what I do."  
  
"Thank you, sir, but I haven't the time to spend the money I make here."  
  
Dick looked up at Desmond, spreading his hands, "Sorry."  
  
Desmond just smiled, nodded, and walked off - seething inside. Dick grinned at Alfred, who tickled the ivories with an amused zest.  
  
* * * * *  
  
At the bar, Wally poured another drink for the stunning woman sitting at the counter, wishing he could reach out and touch that mass of silky hair, just once.  
  
"Boss' private stock, Kory," he paused and gave her a look, "because I love you."  
  
"Shut up," she said and downed the drink quickly.  
  
"Sure. For you I'll shut up. Because I love you," he winked. She didn't even look at him. He sighed, then caught sight of Dick crossing to the bar.  
  
"Hey, Dick, some Reichsarmy soldiers gave me this check. Is it all right?" Dick came over and took it, examining it. He gestured for a pen and Wally handed one to him.  
  
Kory rose and came to stand behind Dick's shoulder. He didn't seem to notice she was there.  
  
"Where were you last night?" she hated how unsteady her voice was, speaking to him.  
  
"That was so long ago I don't remember," Dick said, still going over the papers.  
  
She looked lost for a moment, "Will I see you tonight?"  
  
"I never make plans that far ahead." He picked up several receipts to tally.  
  
Her fists clenched, "Wally, give me another."  
  
"She's had enough," Dick said.  
  
"Don't listen to him! Fill it up!"  
  
Wally looked at her regretfully, "You know I love you - but he pays me."  
  
She hit the bar with her fist, "Dick, I'm sick and tired of you treating me..."  
  
He finally turned, "Wally, call a cab."  
  
"Yes, boss."  
  
Dick took her arm, "Come on."  
  
She jerked away. "Take your hands off me!"  
  
He caught her again and pulled her to her feet, "You're going home. You've had a little too much to drink." He propelled her toward the exit.  
  
"Who do you think you are?" she cried as they stepped outside and moved to the curb where Wally was waiting with the taxi. Dick didn't look at her as she raged, "What a fool I was to fall for you!"  
  
Dick handed her off to Wally, "Go with her and be sure she gets home."  
  
"Yes, boss."  
  
"And come right back," Dick said, with a meaningful stare.  
  
"Yes, boss," Wally sighed.  
  
Dick watched the car pull away and turned to go back in. He was stopped by a voice from one of the shadowed sidewalk tables.  
  
"How extravagant you are, Dick, throwing away women like that. Someday they may be scarce."  
  
Dick turned and went to sit across from Tim Drake.  
  
"I think now I'll call on Kory," Tim said, sipping from his small glass. "Maybe get her on the rebound."  
  
Dick chuckled a bit, "When it comes to women, you are a true democrat."  
  
Both men looked up as a plane, just taking off from the airport, flew low over their heads.  
  
"The plane to Europe," Tim said. "You'd like to be on it."  
  
Dick turned his gaze from the plane to look out across the street. "Why? What's in Europe?"  
  
"Freedom from tyranny," Tim said, amused. "I often wonder why you stay here. Can you not go back to Europe, hmmm? Did you abscond with some funds, or run off with a count's wife? I like to think you killed a man - it's the romantic in me." Tim kept his voice light, but watched the other man with a carefully guarded gaze.  
  
"What makes you think it wasn't all three?"  
  
"And how again, did you end up here - in Bludhaven?" Tim asked innocently.  
  
"My health," Dick replied. "I came to Bludhaven for the heat."  
  
"The heat? What heat? We have terrible winters here."  
  
Dick practically drawled his answer, "Well, I was misinformed."  
  
Tim chuckled, but still watched, as Dick just stared into the night. If Tim ever felt the urge to confess to anyone, which was highly unlikely, he could admit to a strange fascination with this man. Perhaps because he was the one person Tim felt like he could not see through.  
  
The club's door opened and the gambling manager walked quickly to Dick's side.  
  
"Hey," he said, "some lucky SOB just won twenty thousand and the cashier needs some money."  
  
Tim chuckled again and Dick gave a small sigh. Standing, Dick said, "I'll get it from the safe." Tim stood too and followed them in.  
  
"Can't believe this guy's luck, man. I'm sorry," the manager complained.  
  
"Forget it, Roy," Dick said, clapping him on the back. "They're supposed to win sometimes."  
  
Inside the club, they moved through the main room, Dick patting Alfred's shoulder as they passed the piano. Tim came up to walk beside him.  
  
"There's going to be some excitement here tonight, Dick. We're going to make an arrest."  
  
Dick stopped and looked at him. Sounding a bit annoyed, he said, "Again?"  
  
"This one's no ordinary criminal. A murderer," Drake sounded vaguely amused. Dick hid a flash of concern, but Tim saw it. "If you're thinking of warning him, don't bother. He cannot possibly escape."  
  
The neutral mask slipped into place over Dick's face, and he started walking again, "I stick my neck out for nobody."  
  
Tim laughed, "Wise foreign policy."  
  
They reached the stairs that led to Dick's office. "We could have staged the arrest earlier at the Blockbuster," Tim told him as they climbed. "But because of my high regard for you, we'll do it here. It will amuse your customers."  
  
Dick gave a wry chuckle, "Our entertainment's enough." He opened the office door and went to the safe.  
  
Drake said, "We're to have an important guest tonight. Major Dent of the Reichsarmy command. I want him here when we make the arrest. A little demonstration of the efficiency of my administration."  
  
"Um-hmm," Dick said, pulling the safe door open and picking out several bundles of cash. "And what's Major Dent doing here? He didn't come to Bludhaven just to admire your efficiency, did he?" Coming to the door, Dick handed the money to Roy, who took it, pulling a face as he left to pay it out.  
  
Dick closed the door and looked at Drake, "There's something on your mind, Timmy. Why don't you spill it?"  
  
Tim laughed lightly, shaking his head, "Don't miss a trick, do you?" He watched while Dick went to close and lock the safe. "I wanted to give you a piece of advice."  
  
Dick looked at him with a raised eyebrow, "Yeah?" He gestured across the room, "Scotch?"  
  
Drake nodded and they walked over to the small wet bar.  
  
"Dick, there are many exit visas sold in this bar, but we know you've never sold one. That is the reason we permit you to stay in business."  
  
Dick handed him a glass, "I thought it was because I let you win at roulette."  
  
Tim grinned, "That's the other reason." Then his face became serious. "There is a man arriving in Bludhaven. He will offer a fortune to anyone who can provide him with a visa."  
  
"Yeah? What's his name?"  
  
Drake watched him, "Bruce Wayne."  
  
Dick stopped, "Bruce Wayne?"  
  
"Dick, I don't think I've ever seen you so impressed."  
  
Dick regained his casual air instantly, moving to sit on the arm of the sofa, "Well, he's succeeded in impressing half the world."  
  
Tim followed, stopping before him, "It is my duty to see he doesn't impress the other half. Dick, Wayne must never reach Gotham and take charge of the Resistance movement there. He stays in Bludhaven."  
  
Dick stood and moved to the window, "It will be interesting to see how he manages."  
  
"Manages what?" Drake asked, crossing the room and sipping his drink.  
  
"His escape."  
  
"Oh, but I just told you - " Tim said, turning.  
  
"Stop it," Dick opened the latticed shade and came to face Drake. "He escaped from a Reichsarmy prison camp and they've been chasing him all over America."  
  
"This is the end of the chase," Tim said, taking a seat on the sofa.  
  
Dick looked at him with an amused glint in his eye, "Twenty thousand dollars says it isn't."  
  
Tim looked intrigued, "Is that a serious offer?"  
  
Dick sat on the edge of the desk, "Well, I just paid out twenty thousand. I'd like to get it back."  
  
Tim grinned, "Better make it ten. I'm just a poor corrupt official."  
  
"Done."  
  
"All right," Tim said. Then he raised a hand, "No matter how clever he is, he still needs   
an exit visa - or I should say... two."  
  
"Why is that?"  
  
"He's traveling with a woman."  
  
Dick gave a cynical laugh, "Then I'd say - one."  
  
"Two," Tim said firmly. "I've seen the woman. And if he did not leave her in Chicago or Metropolis, he certainly won't leave her in Bludhaven."  
  
"Well, maybe he's not quite as romantic as you."  
  
"It doesn't matter," Drake said. He paused, then enunciated clearly, "There is no exit visa for him."  
  
Dick considered him for a moment. "Tim, what gave you the impression that I might be interested in helping Wayne escape?"  
  
"Because, Dickster," Tim said, "I suspect that under that cynical shell, you are at heart a sentimentalist. Oh, laugh it off, but I happen to be familiar with your record. Let me point out just two items. Five years ago you ran guns to Canada, and two years before that you fought in Mexico - on the Loyalist side."  
  
Dick just shrugged, "And got well paid for it on both occasions."  
  
"The winning side would have paid you much better," Tim pointed out.  
  
Dick cocked his head slightly, "Maybe."  
  
"Uh-huh," Tim said knowingly.  
  
"Well," Dick said, "it seems you're determined to keep Wayne here."  
  
Tim stood, "I have my orders."  
  
Now Dick sounded knowing, "Oh, I see - Reichsarmy orders."  
  
Tim turned and came close to him, "Dickie, you overestimate the influence of the Reichsarmy command. I don't interfere with them - and they don't interfere with me. In Bludhaven, I control my own fate -"  
  
There was a knock at the door and both men looked as it opened.  
  
"Major Dent is here, Captain," Drake's aide announced.  
  
Dick looked at Tim with a wicked grin, "You were saying?"  
  
Tim gave him a nod, "Excuse me," and he walked quickly from the room.  
  
* * * * *  
  
As Tim came down the steps, he caught sight of Donna Troy and moved to her. "Donna, see that Major Dent gets a good table - one near the ladies."  
  
She gave him a sideways glance, "I have already given them the best - knowing they are Reichsarmy and will take it anyway."  
  
Drake ignored her sarcasm and walked over to his waiting aide. "Take him quietly. Two guards at every door," he ordered softly.  
  
The aide saluted and moved off to deploy the other police officers.  
  
Dick came down the steps, eyes taking note of the police, then flickering over to watch Tim approach the table where Dent and his officers sat.  
  
Tim saluted the Reichsarmy offices with studied nonchalance, and took the seat offered him.  
  
"Very interesting club," Dent observed, looking around the room with his hooded eyes.  
  
"Especially interesting tonight, Major," Time told him. "You are about to witness the arrest of the man who murdered your couriers."  
  
Dent turned his cool gaze to Drake and let a small smile touch his lips, "I expected no les, Captain."  
  
They watched as, across the room, two armed policemen approached Tad Nyerstad's back, where he stood at a craps table.  
  
One tapped him on the shoulder, "Excuse me, Mr. Nyerstad."  
  
He turned, his cocky grin fading as he saw the officers. "Yes?" He tried to sound belligerent, but it came out with a bit of a squeak.  
  
"Would you come with us?" the stony-faced policeman said.  
  
Nyerstad's eyes flickered around the room, but then he covered himself with a casual shrug, "Sure. Mind if I cash in my chips?"  
  
The officer just nodded curtly and Nyerstad turned to gather the small disks of plastic. The policemen stayed right at his back as they headed for the cashier.  
  
Nyerstad showed them his winnings, "Pretty lucky, huh?" They didn't answer. As he turned back, his eyes again went rapidly over the room. There were officers at every door.  
  
Reaching the cashier's cage, he laid down his chips and collected his cash. When he turned, the officer gestured for him to precede them. Nyerstad did. Just as they reached the door and the guards parted to let them through, Nyerstad leapt forward, ducking through the door. In the main room, he looked about wildly, pulling a gun from his jacket, turning to fire recklessly as the police coming after him. Screams filled the air at the gunshots.  
  
Nyerstad sprinted across the room, skidding to change directions, sliding up to Dick.  
  
"Dick! Dick, please help me!" He clutched the other man with both hands.  
  
Dick grabbed him by the shoulders, "Don't be a fool - you can't get away." He tried to shake Nyerstad, but he wasn't listening.  
  
"Dick, hide me! Do something - you must help me!"  
  
Dick stepped back as four officers leapt forward, seizing Nyerstad.  
  
"No! No - Dick! No!" They dragged him, kicking and shouting, out the door.  
  
Dick watched coolly. A regular patron stopped behind his shoulder, saying dryly, "I hope, Dick, when they come to take me, you'll be more of a help."  
  
Dick didn't look at him, "I stick my neck out for nobody." He stepped away and raised his voice, "Sorry about the disturbance, folks, but it's all over now. Everything's all right." Several people who had jumped to their feet at the gunfire sank back into their seats. "Just sit back and enjoy yourselves." Crossing to the piano, he said, "All right, Alfred."  
  
The English gentleman nodded and started a lively tune. Within a moment, the club's earlier atmosphere of edgy enjoyment returned. Dick nodded approvingly, and moved through the room, looking for anyone who needed a little extra calming - or anyone who might take advantage of the moment.  
  
He was passing the central table when he heard Tim Drake's voice.  
  
"Dick!"  
  
He looked over and approached at Tim's gesture. "Dick, I'd like you to meet Major Harvey Dent."  
  
Dent stood and the two men nodded at each other.  
  
"Would you join us, Dick?" Dent asked.  
  
Dick pulled his hand from his pocket and reached for the empty chair across from Drake and Dent.  
  
"We are very honored tonight, Dick," Tim said, "Major Dent is one of the reasons the Reichsarmy enjoys the reputation it has today."  
  
Dick's unreadable eyes moved from Drake to Dent.  
  
"Do you mind," Dent asked him, "if I ask you a few questions - unofficially of course?"  
  
Dick said easily, "Make it official if you like."  
  
"What is your nationality?"  
  
Dick looked up for a moment, as if trying to remember, "I'm a drunkard."  
  
This drew a small chuckle from the other men.  
  
"And that makes Dick a citizen of the world," Tim said.  
  
"I was born outside of London, but my mother was American, if that helps you any," Dick said to Dent.  
  
"I understand you came here from Gotham at the time of the Occupation," Dent reached to pour himself another drink from the bottle of wine on the table.  
  
"There isn't any secret about that," Dick replied.  
  
"Are you one of those people who cannot imagine the Reichsarmy in their beloved Gotham?" Dent asked, with a slight superior smile.  
  
Dick cocked an eyebrow, "It's not particularly my beloved Gotham."  
  
"Can you imagine us in London?" Dent asked - as if it meant taking a Sunday drive.  
  
"When you get there, ask me."  
  
Tim's eyes gleamed with appreciation and he chuckled, "Ah, a diplomatist."  
  
"Who do you think will win the war?" Dent asked.  
  
"I haven't the slightest idea," Dick said with a shrug.  
  
Tim put in, "Dick is completely neutral about everything. And that applies in the field of women, too."  
  
Dick shot him a look, but Tim just smiled.  
  
"You were not always so carefully neutral," Dent said. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small sheaf of papers. "We have a complete dossier on you." He read, "Richard Grayson, age 27, cannot return to England." Dent glanced up, "The reason is a little vague. We also know what you did in Gotham and why you had to leave Gotham." Tossing the papers down in front of Dick, he went on, "Don't worry. We are not going to broadcast it."  
  
Dick had picked it up and was thumbing through the papers idly. He looked up at Tim and asked innocently, "Are my eyes really blue?"  
  
Dent reached to take the papers back. "You will forgive my curiosity, Mr. Grayson. The point is an enemy of the Reichsarmy has come to Bludhaven, and we are checking on anyone who can be of any help to us."  
  
Dick said easily, "Well, my interest in whether Bruce Wayne stays or goes is purely a -" he cut his eyes to Tim, "sporting one." Tim grinned in response.  
  
"In this case," Dent asked, "you have no sympathy for the fox?"  
  
"Not particularly," Dick replied. "I understand the point of view of the hound, too."  
  
"Bruce Wayne," and it took Dent some effort to keep his voice casual, "published the foulest lies about us up until the very day we marched into Gotham, and even then he organized a foolish Resistance to the Occupation."  
  
"You must admit," Tim said, just to irk the Major, "that he has great courage."  
  
"I admit he is very clever," Dent said with a dangerous smile. "Three times he has slipped through our fingers. In Metropolis he continued his activities. We intend not to   
let it happen again."  
  
Dick stood, "Excuse me, gentlemen. Your business is politics, mine is running a saloon."  
  
"Mr. Grayson," Dent nodded at him, and he moved off, catching Tim's wink from the corner of his eye.  
  
"You see, Major," Time said confidently, "you have nothing to worry about with Dick."  
  
Dent's face was guarded. "Perhaps."  
  
* * * * *   
  
Across the room, the café's door opened and a couple entered. The man was tall, powerfully built, with dark, neatly swept back hair. His deep-set eyes were shadowed and a thin scar ran around one cheekbone from the corner of his eye, snaking down to his jaw. The woman gave the impression of a classical Greek statue - milky-white skin and a softly shaped face with intense green eyes, framed by flame-red tresses in an elegant wave.  
  
The maitre'd stepped forward to meet them.  
  
"Yes," the man said, in a deep voice. "We have a reservation. Bruce Wayne."  
  
The maitre'd nodded, "This way." He led them through the room.  
  
Alfred did not actually miss a note when they passed by the piano, but a careful listener would have heard the slight hesitation in the music. The woman, likewise, did not react overtly when she saw him - but she met his eyes, finally managing a small, sad smile before they were past.  
  
The maitre'd took them to a table not far from Major Dent, who watched with narrowed eyes. Tim noticed and turned to see them being seated. He looked at Dent with an amused glance.  
  
As soon as the maitre'd left them, Bruce said quietly, "I saw no one of Nyerstad's description." He glanced at her to see if she had. She responded with a small negative shake of her head.  
  
"I have a bad feeling, Bruce," she said softly. "I don't think we should be here."  
  
His eyes were scanning the room. "If we walk out now, we will only call attention to ourselves. He may just be in some other part of the café."  
  
A young, dark woman approached their table. "Excuse me," she said politely, "you look like a couple of their way to Europe." They both turned guarded gazes on her. "You'll find a market there for this ring." She held out her hand to show it to them. "I am being forced to part with it at a great sacrifice."  
  
"We're not int..." Bruce began, but she interrupted him.  
  
"Are you sure? It is quite unique." The woman reached with her other hand and lifted the large stone which was set with a hinge. Beneath was revealed the symbol of the Resistance - the one Wayne himself had chosen - a small stylized bat.  
  
The couple exchanged a quick glance, and Bruce gestured to an empty seat at the table.  
  
"We are very interested," Bruce said, taking the ring and examining it.  
  
She sat, holding herself as if at attention, "Montoya, sir," she said quietly. "At your service."  
  
"Bruce," the woman at his side whispered in warning, eyes fixed over his shoulder where a policeman had come to stand a few feet back.  
  
"I'll meet you in a few minutes at the bar," Bruce told Montoya, then he raised his voice. "No, I don't think we want to buy the ring, but thank you for showing it to us."  
  
Montoya shook her head regretfully, "Such a bargain. But that is your decision?" As he nodded, she took the ring back, stood and left.  
  
The policeman walked up to the table. "Mr. Wayne, is it not?"  
  
Bruce looked up at him, saying carefully, "Yes?"  
  
"I am Captain Drake, Prefect of Police."  
  
"What do you want?" Bruce asked politely.  
  
"Merely to welcome you to Bludhaven and wish you a pleasant stay," Tim said with an easy air. "It isn't often we have so renowned a visitor.  
  
Bruce stood. He towered over the other man, "I hope you'll forgive me, Captain, but I didn't entirely expect a cordial greeting." He paused and turned to his companion. "May I present Ms. Barbara Gordon."  
  
Tim smiled charmingly at her, "I was informed you were the most beautiful woman to ever visit Bludhaven." He took her hand and kissed it, "I see that was a gross understatement."  
  
Barbara smiled, but her eyes were knowing, "You are very kind."  
  
"Would you join us, Captain?" Bruce asked.  
  
"Thank you." Both men sat. "Donna," Drake caught her as she passed, "a bottle of your best champagne - and put it on my bill."  
  
"No, Captain," Wayne protested.  
  
"Please, sir - it is a little game we play." Tim assured him. "They put it on the bill. I tear up the bill. It is very convenient."  
  
"Captain," Barbara said, looking to the center of the room, "The piano player ... somewhere I've seen him."  
  
"Alfred?"  
  
"Yes," she looked back at Tim.  
  
"He came from Gotham with Dick," he told her.  
  
"Dick?" and her voice quavered, almost imperceptibly, "Who's he?"  
  
Tim laughed, "Why my dear, you are in Dick's, and Dick is... well..."  
  
"He's what?" she asked, a little flash in her green eyes.  
  
"Well," Tim said, leaning in, "he is the kind of man that - if I were a woman, and *I* were not around - I should be in love with Dick."  
  
She laughed lightly, throwing a concerned glance at Bruce, whose eyes still moved carefully about the room.  
  
"But what a fool I am," Tim said, "talking to a beautiful woman about another man. I..." he stopped and stood suddenly. "Excuse me." He stepped around behind Wayne to meet Dent as he approached. "Mr. Wayne, Ms. Gordon, may I present Major Harvey Dent."  
  
Bruce had stiffened at the mention of the man's name.  
  
Dent stepped up beside their table, nodding to them both with a smug smile on his lips, "This is a pleasure I have long looked forward to."  
  
"You will forgive me," Bruce's voice was tight, "if I am not gracious." Slowly his dark gaze moved to pin Dent. "But you see, I am from Gotham."  
  
"You were from Gotham," Dent said in a heavy tone. "Now you are a subject of the Reich."  
  
Wayne stood and though his movements were slow there was an unutterable sense of danger about him. He held Dent's eyes with his own, "I have never accepted that - privilege. And I am now on independent soil."  
  
Dent refused to be intimidated. He folded his hands behind his back and said, "I should like to discuss some matters arising from your presence on independent soil."  
  
"This is hardly the time or the place," Bruce said, his gaze unflinching.  
  
"Then we shall name another time and another place. Tomorrow at ten in the Prefect's office." His teeth flashed in a feral grin as he looked to Barbara, "With Miss Gordon."  
  
Wayne turned to Drake, "Captain, we are under your authority. Is it your order that we come to your office?"  
  
"Let us say it is my - request. That is a much more pleasant word," Tim said, smiling.  
  
Bruce looked at them for a long moment. "Very well," and he sat.  
  
Dent and Drake nodded at him, turned to Barbara and did the same, then walked off.  
  
Bruce followed them with his eyes. "They really mean to stop me this time," he said quietly.  
  
"Bruce, I am afraid for you," Barbara said.  
  
He looked at her and covered her hand with his, "We've been in difficult places before, haven't we?" She tried to smile at him. "I must find out what Montoya knows," he said. She nodded, and he moved away.  
  
Barbara's eyes went slowly around the room, as if she were searching for something - something she was afraid to find.  
  
Bruce came and sat by Montoya at the bar, "Ms. Montoya, may I see that ring again?"  
  
She pulled it off and handed it to him. "I recognize you from the news photographs," she said in a low voice.  
  
Wayne's expression remained neutral, "In a prison camp, one is apt to lose a little weight."  
  
"We heard five times that you were killed, in five different places."  
  
"As you can see," Bruce said, turning the ring over, "it was true - every time. I am looking for a man named Nyerstad. He is supposed to help me."  
  
Montoya shook her head carefully, "He can't even help himself. He is under arrest for murder. He was arrested here tonight."  
  
"I see," Bruce said.  
  
"But we who are still free will do everything in our power. We are organized here, like everywhere else. There is a meeting tomorrow night, if you will come - " Montoya broke off suddenly as the bartender passed close by.  
  
Back at the table, Barbara caught a waiter, "Excuse me. Would you ask the piano player to come over here, please?"  
  
A moment later, Alfred rolled the small upright to stand beside her table.  
  
"Hello, Alfred," she said as he took the bench down and sat.  
  
"Hello, Miss Barbara. I never expected to see you again."  
  
"It's been a long time," she was smiling, but her eyes were pained.  
  
"Yes, Ma'am," Alfred thumbed through the sheets of music. "Much has happened."  
  
Suddenly, she managed a bright smile, "Some of the old songs, Alfred."  
  
"Yes, Miss," he began to play.  
  
"Where is Dick?" she asked softly.  
  
"I do not know, Miss. I have not seen him all night."  
  
"When will he be back?"  
  
"Not tonight I think. He has gone home for the evening," Alfred had been avoiding her eyes which stayed steadily on him, and now he kept his gaze on the keys.  
  
"Does he always leave so early?" she asked.  
  
"No, he - he has a young lady over at the Blockbuster. I believe he has gone to see her."  
  
Barbara looked down and there was regret in her voice, "You used to be a much better liar, Alfred."  
  
He stopped playing and turned to her, saying quietly, "Leave him alone, Miss Barbara. You are bad luck to him."  
  
Now she couldn't meet his gaze. Finally she gave a small sigh and glanced up, trying to smile, "Play it once, Alfred. For old time's sake."  
  
"I am afraid I do not know what you mean," he said stiffly.  
  
"Play it, Alfred," she urged softly. "play... 'As Time Goes By'."  
  
"I do not believe I remember the tune."  
  
"I'll hum it for you." Very quietly, she picked out the melody, and he turned back to the keyboard, and began to play.  
  
She placed a hand lightly on his arm, "Sing it, Alfred."  
  
He did as she requested.  
  
"You must remember this.  
A kiss is just a kiss.  
A sigh is just a sigh.  
The fundamental things apply  
As time goes by."  
  
Tears began to glint in Barbara's eyes as her gaze turned inward.  
  
"And when two lovers woo   
They still say I love you  
On that you can rely  
No matter what the future brings..."  
  
Dick came out of the back room, moving quickly toward the piano.  
  
"As time goes by."  
  
"Alfred!" His voice was fierce, "I thought I told you never to pl..." Dick's eyes fell on Barbara and his words froze in his throat.  
  
Time seemed to stop as he looked into her eyes, bright with unshed tears, and his own were suddenly tortured, fierce pain slashing through them for all the world to see.  
  
Alfred quickly picked up his bench and rolled the piano away. Dick seemed to steel himself, and his face went blank as he stepped closer to the table.  
  
Just at that moment Tim Drake appeared, followed closely by Wayne.  
  
"Well," Tim said with a smile, "You were asking about Dick, and here he is. Miss Gordon may I present..."  
  
"Hello, Barbara," Dick said.  
  
"Hello, Dick."  
  
Tim looked surprised and examined Dick's face, but found nothing. "I see you two already know each other. Then perhaps you also know..."  
  
"This is Mr. Wayne," Barbara said, as Bruce stepped forward.  
  
"How do you do?" Bruce said politely.  
  
Dick nodded.  
  
"One hears a great deal about Dick in Bludhaven," Bruce said.  
  
"And about Bruce Wayne everywhere," Dick replied.  
  
"Won't you join us for a drink?" Bruce asked.  
  
"Oh, Dick never..." Tim was cut off again as Dick spoke.  
  
"I think I will," and he moved to take a seat.  
  
"Well," Tim said with a surprised chuckle, " a precedent is being broken." He also sat down.  
  
"This is a very interesting café," Bruce remarked. "I congratulate you."  
  
"I congratulate you," Dick replied.  
  
"What for?" Wayne asked.  
  
"Your work," Dick said, meeting the other man's dark gaze.  
  
"Thank you. I try."  
  
"We all try," Dick said. "You succeed."  
  
Tim did not miss the guarded glances Barbara occasionally gave Dick and, never one to let something like that pass, said, "You know, Dick, she was asking about you earlier in a way that made me extremely jealous."  
  
Barbara smiled and looked up - first at Bruce, then at Dick, "I wasn't sure you were the same." She said softly, dropping her eyes for a moment, "Let's see - the last time we met was..."  
  
"The Belle Nocturne," he said.  
  
She laughed a little, almost nervously. "How nice. You remember," she murmured. Then she looked at Bruce and Tim, her tone going serious, "But of course, that was the day the Reichsarmy marched into Gotham."  
  
"Not," Dick said, and his voice drew her eyes back to him, "an easy day to forget."  
  
"No," Barbara whispered, looking down.  
  
"I remember every detail," Dick's words had a hard ironic tinge to them, "The Reichsarmy wore grey. You wore green."  
  
Her eyes closed briefly and when she raised then to him again, for an instant - everything was there. But only for an instant.  
  
She looked at Bruce, "Yes, I've put that dress away. Perhaps when the Reichsarmy marches out I'll wear it again."  
  
"Dick," Tim said, "you're becoming quite human. I suppose we have you to thank for that, Miss Gordon."  
  
"Barbara," Bruce said. "It's getting late."  
  
"So it is," Tim said, looking at his watch. "And we have a curfew here in Bludhaven. It would never do for the Prefect of Police to be caught drinking after hours and have to fine himself." He and Wayne rose, "Let me call you a taxi - gasoline rationing, time of night and all that."  
  
It was a moment before Dick and Barbara moved, for as the other men turned away, their eyes caught - and held.  
  
Barbara looked up at Bruce suddenly and stood, Dick rising as well. She looked at him as Bruce moved to her shoulder.  
  
"Say goodnight to Alfred for me," she said. "There's still no one in the world who can play 'As Time Goes By' like Alfred."  
  
Dick looked at her, very aware of Wayne's inscrutable gaze. "He hasn't played it in a long time."  
  
Barbara's eyes faltered, "Well... good night." She and Bruce turned and moved to the exit.  
  
Dick sat back down, heavily, his eyes still on their retreating backs.  
  
On the sidewalk, Bruce said, "Puzzling fellow, this Dick. What sort if he?"  
  
Barbara hesitated the merest instant, "I can't really say, though I saw him quite often in Gotham."  
  
They joined Drake where he held a cab for them at the curb.  
  
"Tomorrow at ten in the Prefect's office," he reminded them.  
  
Both nodded. Barbara smiled pleasantly, "Good night, Captain."  
  
Tim responded with his usual charming air, "Good night, Miss."  
  
But he stayed on the street, watching carefully as they got in the cab and drove off.  
  
* * * * *  
Hours later the empty café was dark, filled with shadows cut by the faint light spilling in the windows from the street.  
  
Dick sat alone at the bar, a half-full shot glass next to a half-empty bottle. He threw back what was left in the glass and was pouring another shot when Alfred entered the room. Dick ignored him.  
  
"Sir?" Nothing. "Sir?" Alfred said a little more loudly. Dick kept his morose gaze on his glass.  
  
"Sir!"  
  
"What?" Dick replied irritably.  
  
"Are you going to bed?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Are you ever going to bed?"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Well, I am not tired either," Alfred said, pulling the bench up to the piano.  
  
"Good, then have a drink."  
  
"No, thank you, sir."  
  
"Then don't have a drink," Dick knocked back another shot.  
  
"Sir, why don't we get out of here?" Alfred said tentatively.  
  
"Barbara," Dick said, grimacing. "I'm waiting for a lady."  
  
"Please, sir, let's go..."  
  
"She's comin' back," Dick's speech was beginning to slur, "I know she's comin' back."  
  
"There is nothing but trouble for us here," Alfred urged. "We'll take the car and drive all night. We'll get drunk. We'll stay away until she's gone..."  
  
"Go on! Get out of here!" Dick shouted suddenly.  
  
Alfred drew himself up. "No, sir," he said. "I am staying right here." Turning to the piano he began to play softly to try and calm himself.  
  
"They grab Nyerstad," Dick said, his voice rough, "then she walks in. Well, that's the way it goes. One in, one out. Alfred."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"It's June 12th, 3:45 a.m. What time is it in London?"  
  
"I'm afraid I do not know sir."  
  
"I'll bet they're asleep in London. I'll bet they're asleep all over Europe..." Suddenly his fist slammed onto the bar, making the glass and bottle jump. His eyes were dark with pain, his face twisted. "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world - she walks into mine." He buried his face in his hands. Slowly, slowly, his fingers dragged down his face and fell limp to the bar. Swaying a little, Dick half-turned to Alfred.  
  
"Wha's'at you're playing?"  
  
"Oh, just a little something of my own," Alfred said.  
  
"Well, stop it. You know what I want to hear."  
  
"I do not think I can remem..."  
  
"Play it!" Dick's voice shook. "If she can stand it - I can!"  
  
There was silence, and then Alfred began to play.  
  
Dick's head bowed and his eyes closed for a moment, and when they opened again - it wasn't the café he saw. No, it was a bright, busy room, and a beautiful pair of green eyes smiling at him. He saw shining red hair flashing in the sunlight and he felt a soft hand on his, holding onto him like she would never let go. He saw her again that first moment and felt the instant flash. He saw the days and nights in Gotham that had followed, when they had flowed together as naturally as two streams meeting. He remembered long drives and quiet evenings. He felt her pressed against them as they danced, felt her lips under his...  
  
He remembered one night, one night when he had broken their only rule.  
  
"Why was I so lucky," he had asked her, "to find you waiting for me?"  
  
She'd flinched, barely, but he saw it and put his arm around her, pulling her close.  
  
"Why there isn't... some other man in my life?" she whispered. When he nodded, she went on, "There was. He's dead."  
  
"I'm sorry for asking," he replied, holding her, hating the pain he saw in her eyes. "I forgot we said no questions."  
  
She turned her lips to his, "Only one answer can take care of all our questions," she whispered before his mouth took hers.  
  
And then the Reichsarmy had come to Gotham. Dick tried to fight off the memory, but it was no use. The Belle Nocturne...  
  
Alfred had been playing for them in the background of the small sunlit café - already closed to customers because of the army moving in to take the city. Barbara had seemed terribly on edge as she watched him pour glasses of wine for himself, she and Alfred.  
  
"Hogan wants us to drink this bottle and three more," Dick told them. "He says he'll water his garden with them before he lets the Reichsarmy drink it."  
  
Alfred reached for a glass, "Perhaps this will take the sting out of being occupied."  
  
Dick grinned, "You said it." Then he raised his glass to Barbara, tinking it gently against hers, "Here's ... looking at you, Red."  
  
Dick and Barbara both looked up at the sound of violence out on the street. Immediately they moved to the window to see some soldiers taking a group of Gothamites into custody.  
  
Barbara looked at him with tears in her eyes, "The whole world's going crazy - and we pick this time to fall in love."  
  
Dick tried to keep it light, "Yeah, pretty bad timing." Then he pulled her into a heated, desperate kiss.  
  
They broke away from one another only when explosions cut through the air outside.  
  
Dick held her close as he heard her whisper, "Is that cannon fire, or the pounding of my heart?"  
  
"Sir," Alfred said quietly, and they both looked up. The older gentleman looked pained to have to say what came next, "they will be looking for you soon. Don't forget there is a price on your head."  
  
Dick forced a grin, tightening his arm around Barbara. "I left a note in my apartment," he said lightly. "They'll know where to find me."  
  
Barbara was gazing at him and he looked at her with questioning eyes.  
  
She shook her head a bit, "It's so strange. I know so very little about you."  
  
He smiled, "I know very little about you."  
  
"Richard, you are in danger. You must leave Gotham," she urged.  
  
"No, *we* must leave."  
  
"Of... of course, I meant we."  
  
"The train leaves at 5:00. I'll pick you up at 4:30"  
  
And almost unnoticeable spasm crossed her brow, "No, I have... some things to do in the city first."  
  
"All right, we can meet at the station," then he said, as if were the first moment he had thought of it, "Hey, why don't we get married in Metropolis?"  
  
"Richard!" she laughed, but it sounded a little desperate. Then her eyes faltered, and fell. "That's too far ahead to plan," she said softly.  
  
"Barbara," he whispered, seeing that tears were about to fall, "what's wrong?"  
  
She shook her head and wiped her eyes quickly, "It's just... just that I love you so much, and I hate this war so much." Her voice rose, her words quickening, "It's a crazy world, anything can happen. If you shouldn't get away... I mean if... if something should... keep us apart - I just want you to know that wherever you are, and wherever I'll be, I'll always... always..."  
  
He kissed her, then held her close, knowing he would never, never let anything separate them...  
  
"Kiss me," she whispered, pulling back to look into his eyes. "Kiss me - as if it were the last time."  
  
It had rained the next day, torrents of water pouring out of the muddy grey sky. The train station was a madhouse as people fled Gotham, carrying what they could and leaving everything - everything else.  
  
"Alfred! Where is she? Have you seen her?" Dick's voice was panicked as the older man approached. Why wasn't she here? Had something happened to her?  
  
"No, sir, Mr. Richard. I cannot find her. She has checked out of her hotel." Alfred reached into a pocket of his overcoat and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "But this note came just after you left."  
  
With trembling hands, Dick opened it. Raindrops made the ink run as he read.  
  
Richard,  
I cannot go with. You must not ask why. Just believe that I love you.  
Barbara  
  
"That is the last call, sir," Alfred spoke urgently, but Dick didn't move. "Sir! We must go now." Finally he grabbed Dick's arm and pulled him, forcing him to move toward the train.  
  
Dick went, but he was barely aware he was walking. His whole body was numb - dead. He was dead inside.  
  
As they mounted the train car, his hand clenched, crumpling the note. He turned for one last look at Gotham - and threw the ball of paper onto the tracks.  
  
* * * * *   
  
The last notes of the song echoed through the still shadows of the café. Alfred looked at Dick, who stared into the darkness, his eyes far, far away. He was about to try to speak to him when he heard the door open behind him.  
  
Both men looked over at the silhouette in the doorway as it came slowly forward. There was a flash of red as she passed through a sliver of light.  
  
A small smile touched Dick's lips. But his eyes were hard. Hard and cold.  
  
"Dick," she said quietly, coming up to the bar, "I have to talk to you."  
  
He reached for the bottle, "I've been saving my first drink to have with you."  
  
She closed her eyes for a moment at the sound of his voice, "No, Dick. Not tonight."  
  
"Especially tonight." He poured himself another shot. Watching only his glass he said, "Why'd you have to come here?"  
  
"I wouldn't have, if I'd known you were here," she sat down across from him. "Believe me, Dick, I didn't know."  
  
"Funny about your voice - how it hasn't changed. I can still hear it, 'Richard, dear, I'll go with you..."  
  
"Stop," she whispered, but he just kept on as if she hadn't spoken.  
  
"...anywhere. We'll get on a train and never stop. We'll..."  
  
"Don't, Dick! Don't ... please," it took a moment before she could look at him again. "I understand how you feel."  
  
He gave a short, cynical laugh, "You understand? How long was it we had, Red?"  
  
"I didn't count the days," she said softly.  
  
"Yeah?" His eyes burned into hers, "Well, I did. Mostly I remember the last one, the wild finish. A guy standing in the rain with a comical look on his face because his insides were just kicked out." He threw back the drink.  
  
Barbara took a deep breath, "Can I tell you a story, Dick?"  
  
He looked at the bottle, "Got a wild finish?" Tipping the bottle, he refilled his glass, spilling liquor on the counter.  
  
"She searched his face, "I don't know the ending yet."  
  
"Go on - tell it. Maybe one will come to you as you go along."  
  
Barbara leaned forward, "It's about a girl who had just come to Gotham from her home in Iowa. At her uncle's home she met a man about whom she'd heard her whole life - a very great and courageous man. He opened up for her a whole world of knowledge and thoughts and ideals, and everything she knew or ever became was because of him. She looked up to him, worshipped him, with a feeling she supposed was love..."  
  
"Yes, very pretty," Dick said, turning his cold eyes on her again. "I heard a story once - as a matter of fact, I've heard lots of stories. They went along with the sound of a tinny piano playing in the parlor downstairs. 'Mister, I met a man once when I was a kid...'" he stopped unwillingly. A tear was rolling slowly down her porcelain cheek. "Well, I guess neither one of our stories is very funny." Suddenly his gaze went sharp and as he casually lifted his glass, he asked her, "Tell me, was it Wayne you left me for or were there others in between? Or aren't you the kind that tells?"  
  
Her eyes had widened slightly at his words, and the deadly venom in them. She stood, backing up from him, then turned and walked quickly out of the café.  
  
Dick's face did not change until the door closed, and then it twisted, blackened, and finally everything was washed away in grief. His head fell heavily onto his arms on the bar.  
  
* * * * *  
  
It was nearly ten. Major Dent and Captain Drake waited in Drake's office.  
  
"Nyerstad had to have given the letters of transit to someone to hide for him. I suggest you search Mr. Grayson's café," Dent said.  
  
Tim scoffed, "If Dick has them he's far too intelligent to let us find them."  
  
There was a knock at the door.  
  
"Come in," Tim said.  
  
Bruce and Barbara entered. Tim gestured them to the seats at the table to the side of his desk. Dent sat across from them. The tension in the air was palpable, though everyone kept a studiedly polite and casual air about them.  
  
Dent wasted no time, "Mr. Wayne, you are an escaped prisoner of the Reich. So far you have been fortunate in eluding us - you have reached Bludhaven. It is my duty to see that you remain in Bludhaven.."  
  
Wayne simply looked at him, "Whether or not you succeed - is problematic."  
  
"Not at all," Dent's teeth flashed in a tight grin. He gestured at Tim, "Captain Drake's signature is required on all exit visas. Captain Drake," Dent turned to him, "do you think it is possible Mr. Wayne will receive an exit visa?"  
  
"I'm afraid not," Tim said politely. "My regrets, Mr. Wayne." He didn't flinch when Wayne's black gaze turned on him, nut only because he never showed his true feelings.  
  
"Well," Bruce said, "perhaps I will like it in Bludhaven."  
  
Dent turned to Barbara, "And Miss Gordon, we are not unaware of your part in all of this. We can't have you slipping off to continue Resistance activities."  
  
Her eyes were green ice, "You needn't worry about me."  
  
"Is that all you have to tell us?" Bruce asked, and the couple started to rise.  
  
"Don't be in such a hurry. You have all the time in the world. You may be in Bludhaven indefinitely. Or - " Dent paused, watching both carefully, "you may be on a plane to Europe tonight. On one condition."  
  
It was a moment before Wayne spoke, his black eyes never leaving Dent's face, "And that is?"  
  
"You know the leader of the underground movement in Metropolis, in Los Angeles, in Quebec, Mexico City..."  
  
"Even in Washington," Bruce said with a grim smile.  
  
Dent's eyes narrowed, "Yes," he hissed, "even in Washington. Give me their names and exact whereabouts and you will have your visas this afternoon."  
  
"And the honor of having served the Reichsarmy," Drake's tone was unreadable.  
  
Wayne's eyebrow rose slowly as he turned to Tim, "I was in a Reichsarmy prison camp for a year," he said. "That is honor enough for a lifetime." He held Drake's gaze steadily as Dent spoke again.  
  
"You will give us the names?"  
  
"If I did not give them to you in a prison camp," finally he broke his gaze on Tim and looked at Dent, "where you had more - persuasive - methods at your disposal, I certainly won't give them to you now." Glancing at Tim again briefly, he went on, "And what if you track down these people and kill them? What if you murdered all of us?" He didn't wait for a response. "From all over North America, hundreds, thousands, would rise to take our places. Even the Reichsarmy can't kill that fast."  
  
Dent's narrowed eyes gleamed, "Mr. Wayne, you have a reputation for forcefulness which I can now understand. But in one respect you are mistaken. You say all the enemies of the Reich can be replaced, but there is one exception. You. No one could take your place in the event - something unfortunate should happen to you while you were trying to escape."  
  
"You don't dare interfere with me here," Bruce said. "This is still independent territory. Any violation of neutrality would reflect - on Captain Drake."  
  
Tim no longer cared to war with Wayne's eyes, so he kept his on the papers in his hands. "Of course - in so far as it is my power," he said vaguely.  
  
Wayne nodded, and began to rise again, but was stopped as Tim spoke.  
  
"By the way, last night you expressed an interest in Mr. Nyerstad."  
  
"Yes. Where is he? May I speak with him?"  
  
"You would find the conversation a trifle one-sided," Dent told him. "Mr. Nyerstad is dead."  
  
Neither Bruce nor Barbara's face changed, though Dent watched carefully for any indication of reaction from them.  
  
"I'm making out the report now," Tim maintained his usual slightly amused air, but he avoided both their eyes. "We haven't quite decided whether he committed suicide or died trying to escape."  
  
Bruce and Barbara rose as one. Bruce's voice was icy, "If that will be all."  
  
Dent nodded at them, and they exited the office.  
  
Tim looked at Dent, "Their next step will be to the black market."  
  
An aide entered, passing Dent as he left the office.  
  
"Another visa problem has come up, sir."  
  
Tim took the papers from him and smiled, "Ah, yes. Send her in."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Dick made his way through the heated, sun-drenched streets, entering the overly cool fluorescent lighted Blockbuster Club. He caught sight of Desmond escorting a young couple from one of his meeting rooms in the back.  
  
Dick overheard what he was telling them as they crossed the room, already filled with people drowning their sorrows, "I'm sorry I couldn't help you," Desmond said airily, while the young woman's desperate eyes closed, "but perhaps you can come to terms with Captain Drake. Good day."  
  
"Hello, Desmond," Dick said, as the huge man turned to him.  
  
"Morning, Dick," he replied, squaring off on him, as always trying to use his bulk to intimidate him - though it never worked.  
  
"I see the truck's in," Dick said, "I'll take my shipment with me."  
  
"Don't be silly, I'll have it sent over. Have a drink with me."  
  
"I never drink in the morning," Dick answered, "and every time you send my shipment over - it's short."  
  
Desmond laughed easily, "Carrying charges, my boy." He gestured Dick over to a table near the front window. "I'm glad to see you anyway. I have something I'd like to discuss."  
  
Both men walked over and sat. Dick knew what was coming but showed nothing.  
  
Desmond leaned in, "The news about Nyerstad upsets me very much..."  
  
Dick had no patience for any roundabout discussions this morning, "You're a liar. You don't care about Nyerstad any more than I do."  
  
"Of course not," Desmond said, eyes fixed on Dick. "What upsets me is that Nyerstad is dead and no one knows where those letters of transit are."  
  
"Practically no one," Dick said pointedly.  
  
Desmond spoke as casually as possible, "If I could lay my hands on those letters of transit, I could make a fortune."  
  
"So could I," Dick said, leaning back and gazing out the window. "And I'm just a poor business man."  
  
"I have a proposal for whoever has those letters," Desmond said seriously. "I'll handle the entire transaction, take all the risk - for a small percentage."  
  
"Carrying charges?" Dick asked with a touch of sarcasm.  
  
"Naturally there will be a few incidental expenses," Desmond replied. "That is the proposition I have for whoever has those letters," he fixed Dick with a slightly eager stare.  
  
"Well, I'll tell him when he comes in."  
  
"Dick, I'll be blunt. I think you know where those letters are," Desmond said.  
  
"You're in good company - Drake and Dent probably think so too." His face did not at all change even though he saw her - with Wayne - on the street across from the bar. Wayne said something to her, then crossed, heading for the Blockbuster's entrance. "That's why I came over here," Dick said, without missing a beat, "to give them a chance to ransack my place."  
  
"Dick, don't be a fool! You need a partner in this," Desmond urged.  
  
Dick turned to face him, then rose, "Excuse me, I'll be getting back now." He left Desmond staring after him.  
  
He timed his exit perfectly, opening the door just as Bruce stepped up to it. The two men stopped for barely a moment, eyes locking.  
  
"Desmond's the big guy at the table," Dick said, nodding over and passing by Wayne, who cocked an eyebrow at his back before continuing over to Desmond.  
  
Dick didn't spare a glance behind him as he crossed the busy street. Silently he approached Barbara's back where she stood looking through a large window at a storefront display.  
  
She saw his reflection in the glass, and she tensed slightly, but did not turn.  
  
"I'm sorry I was in no condition to receive you when you called on me last night," he said quietly.  
  
"It doesn't matter," she said curtly, her face expressionless.  
  
"Your story had me a little confused - or maybe it was the whisky." Still she refused to look at him. "Why did you come back?" he asked. "To tell me why you ran out on me at the train station?"  
  
There was a short pause. "Yes," she said.  
  
"Well, you can tell me now - I'm reasonably sober," unconsciously, he tried the grin that had once melted her heart.  
  
She caught sight of it for a moment in the window but turned her eyes away. "I don't think I will, Dick," she said tightly.  
  
The grin was instantly gone, replaced by that hardness in his eyes," Why not? After all I got stuck with the railway ticket - I think I'm entitled to know."  
  
"Last night I saw what has happened to you. The Richard I knew in Gotham, I could tell him - he'd understand, but the one that looked at me with such ... hatred - " she stopped, and sighed very softly. "Well, soon I'll be leaving Bludhaven and we'll never see each other again." She didn't mean to, but she caught his gaze in the window, and she knew her eyes were as hard as green glass. Turning, she faced him, "We knew very little about each other when we were in love in Gotham. If we leave it that way maybe we'll remember those times and not Bludhaven." Her eyes dropped, as did her voice, "Not last night."  
  
His voice was softer too as he watched her face, knowing he hated himself for having been so cruel to her - but unable to feel it. Still, he had to know, "Did you run out on me because you knew what it would be like - hiding from the police, running away all the time?"  
  
Muscles played along her jaw and she kept her eyes averted, "You can believe that if you like."  
  
"Well," he stopped, then heard himself go on, "I'm not running anymore. I'm settled now - above a saloon it's true but... walk up a flight." He tried to keep his voice neutral, but there was the slightest tremor in it, "I'll be expecting you."  
  
For the briefest instant he saw it in her eyes, all that he had once seen and he felt a surge of hope - then it was gone, and it was like an invisible wall had gone up between them. He felt the hope washed away in pain and anger - but he would not show it. Not to her.  
  
A small tight smile touched his lips, "All the same, one day you'll lie to Wayne. You'll be there."  
  
Her eyes closed for a moment, then met his. Her face was proud and cold and immovable, "No. No, Dick, you see - Bruce Wayne is my husband, and was, even when I knew you in Gotham."  
  
And it was that day again - he was standing in the pounding, icy rain, frozen - dead inside.  
  
Barbara turned and walked away from him.  
  
* * * * *   
  
She joined Bruce in his meeting with Desmond.  
  
"You see, I was just telling Mr. Wayne that I cannot help him."  
  
"Word has gone around," Bruce told her, and she nodded calmly though her insides roiled.  
  
"As leader of all illegal activity in Bludhaven," Desmond said with a smile, unabashed about his profession, "I am an influential and respected man. But it would not be worth my life - to do anything for Mr. Wayne. You, however, Miss Gordon, are a different matter."  
  
Bruce looked at her, "Mr. Desmond believes it may be possible to get an exit visa for you."  
  
"You mean for me to go on alone?" she asked.  
  
"And only alone," Desmond said.  
  
"I will stay here and keep trying," Bruce told her. "I'm sure in a little while..."  
  
"We might as well be frank," Desmond interrupted. "You are people who understand how the world works. It would take a miracle to get you out of Bludhaven. And the Reichsarmy has outlawed miracles."  
  
"We are only interested in two visas," Barbara said, unequivocally.  
  
"Barbara," Bruce said.  
  
"No, Bruce."  
  
"You two will want to discuss this," Desmond said, rising. "Excuse me," he quietly withdrew.  
  
"Barbara, I want you to go to Europe, where you'll be safe," Bruce said, his voice flat and decisive. "Sooner or later, I will find a way to get back to Gotham and then we'll..."  
  
"Bruce," she said quietly, "if the situation were different and I had to stay in danger and there was only visa for one - would you take it?"  
  
"Yes," he said, without hesitation. But he wouldn't meet her eyes.  
  
"I see," she spoke barely above a whisper, her eyes on his shadowed face. "When I had trouble getting out of Dallas, why didn't you leave me there?" He stood, turning so that his back was to her. "When I was sick in Chicago and held you up for two weeks and you were in danger every minute of the time - why didn't you leave me then? She rose, standing close behind his shoulder.  
  
"I meant to," he said, trying to make his words casual, but his voice was rough. "Something always held me up."  
  
She put her hand on his arm and he drew in a deep breath.  
  
Very quietly he said, "I love you very much, Barbara."  
  
She laughed a little and leaned against him, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. "Your secret will be safe with me," she said softly. Squeezing his arm, she told him, "Desmond's waiting for us." He nodded, and they exited into the main room, moving over to Desmond where he stood by the large front window.  
  
"We've decided, Mr. Desmond," Barbara said. "For now we will continue to look for two exit visas."  
  
"Well, good luck," Desmond said off-handedly. "And be careful - you know you are being shadowed."  
  
"Of course," Bruce replied. "It becomes an instinct."  
  
"I observe that you in one respect are a very fortunate man," Desmond said, looking from Bruce to Barbara, "and I am moved to make one more suggestion. Why, I do not know as it cannot possibly profit me," and he smiled magnanimously. "Have you heard about Mr. Nyerstad and the letters of transit?"  
  
Bruce merely nodded.  
  
"Those letters were not found on Nyerstad when he was arrested."  
  
"Do you know where they are?" Barbara asked.  
  
"Not for certain, but I would venture a guess that Nyerstad left those letters with Dick Grayson."  
  
Wayne's chin lifted a fraction of an inch, but it was his only reaction. Barbara's eyes widened for an instant, then dropped to the floor.  
  
"Grayson?" Bruce asked.  
  
"Dick is - a difficult customer," Desmond said. "One never knows what he'll do or why. But it's worth a chance."  
  
"Thank you for the information," Bruce said. Barbara nodded at Desmond as they left.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Major Dent was determined to maintain an obvious presence at Dick's even though the police search had not turned up the stolen letters of transit. So, that evening he arrived with ten officers in tow, ostensibly just out for a night on the town.   
  
Dick knew what they were doing, however. Still, he just watched as they strolled through the café as if they were masters of all they surveyed.  
  
Donna appeared at his shoulder, "Here you go, Dick," she said, putting a bottle and glass on the table before him. "You're getting to be your best customer," she gave him a slightly frowning look. He ignored her, and she let it alone, knowing in the mood he was in it would do no good to confront him. She walked off to make her rounds.  
  
Just then, Tim Drake approached. "Drinking," he observed approvingly, "I'm very pleased with you." And he took a seat at the table.  
  
"That was some going over your boys gave my place," Dick said, a touch irritably. "We barely got cleaned up in time to open tonight."  
  
"I told Dent he wouldn't find the letters here, but I told my men to be especially destructive. You know how that impresses the Reichsarmy," Tim replied with an amused grin. Then he looked Dick right in the eye," Dick, have you got those letters of transit?"  
  
"Tim, are you pro-Reich or Free America?" Dick replied, dead-pan.  
  
Tim laughed, "Serves me right for asking a direct question. The subject is closed."  
  
Dick's eyes were taking note of a couple just entering the café behind Tim. He nodded at them, "Looks like you're a little late."  
  
Tim glanced over his shoulder to see Kory, dressed glamorously as always to display her ample charms, cross the room on the arm of a Reichsarmy Lieutenant.  
  
"So, Kory's gone over to the enemy," Dick commented.  
  
"Who knows," Time said, hiding his jealousy as he saw Kory give Dick a pointedly haughty look and clutch the soldier's arm obviously. Dick somehow managed to always have the most stunning women fall for him. "In her own way, she may constitute an entire second front. Well," Tim said, standing, "I think it's time for me to flatter Major Dent again. Excuse me."   
  
Tim passed the bar, giving Kory a lingering glance as he joined the Reichsarmy officers at their table.  
  
Kory was ordering a row of drinks when a man who'd been standing at the bar when she and her date arrived turned to her.  
  
Quietly but vehemently he said, "You embarrass yourself with this trash. Are you American or not?"  
  
She looked shocked and spat back, "What do you mean?"  
  
"You know what I..." he stopped as the Reichsarmy Lieutenant rounded on him.  
  
"You want to repeat that?" he asked the other man, threateningly.  
  
"I wasn't talking to you," he tried to turn away, but the officer grabbed his arm to force him back around. He came - with a closed fist. Other patrons cried out and backed away as the two men began grappling.  
  
Dick suddenly appeared. With a swift controlled kick to the back of the Lieutenant's knee, he dropped the man, while seizing the other by the neck and sending him spinning against the bar. Everyone stood frozen.  
  
"I don't like disturbances in my place," Dick said in a low, dangerous tone. "Either lay off politics, or get out!"  
  
Both men straightened themselves and backed up.  
  
"You see, Captain Drake," at the table nearby, Dent looked at Tim, "the situation is not nearly as under control as you think."  
  
"Major, we are trying to cooperate with your government," Tim said lightly, "but we cannot regulate the feelings of our people."  
  
"Captain, are you entirely sure which side you are on?" Dent said is as if it were an inconsequential detail, but his eyes were scrutinizing Tim minutely.  
  
"I have no conviction if that's what you mean," Tim said with a shrug. "I blow with the wind, and the prevailing wind happens to be from the Reich."  
  
"And if it should change?"  
  
Tim's eyes gleamed and he let a small chuckle escape as he said, "Surely the Reichsarmy does not admit *that* possibility."  
  
"We are concerned with more than Bludhaven," Dent told him coldly. "We know that every city in North America is honey-combed with traitors - waiting for their chance. Waiting for a leader."  
  
"Like Wayne," Tim said.  
  
"I have been thinking... it may not only be to dangerous to let him go. It may also be too dangerous if we let him stay."  
  
Tim cocked an eyebrow and said ambiguously, "I see what you mean." Then he caught sight of the lovely young, sad-eyed woman who'd come to his office this morning over a visa difficulty, emerging from the casino room. Excusing himself quickly, he moved to meet her.  
  
"How is lady luck treating you?" he asked. She wouldn't meet his eyes and shook her head, looking as if she was about to cry. Tim pointed to the corner table, "You'll find him right over there."  
  
She crossed to the man sitting alone with a bottle.  
  
"Excuse me, Mr... Dick," she said hesitantly.  
  
"Yes?" he looked up.  
  
"May I speak to you for a moment?"  
  
His eyes went swiftly over her, "How'd you get in here? You're underage."  
  
"I came with Captain Drake."  
  
Dick sighed, "I should have known."  
  
"My husband is with me here, too," she said, a little stiffly.  
  
"He is?" Dick raised an eyebrow, "Well, Captain Drake is getting broad minded. Sit down."  
  
She took a seat beside him, "Sir, what kind of man is Captain Drake?"  
  
"Oh, just like any other man, only more so," Dick poured himself another drink.  
  
She seemed to be pleading, "No, I mean - is he trustworthy? Is his word..."  
  
"Wait a minute - who told you to ask me that?" Dick frowned.  
  
"He did - Captain Drake did."  
  
"I thought so," Dick replied. "Where's your husband?"  
  
"At the roulette table, trying to win enough for our exit visas." Tears welled in her eyes, "Of course, he's losing."  
  
"How long have you been married?" Dick asked gently.  
  
"Eight weeks," she said, her face softening. "We come from Texas - things are very bad there, sir," her voice trembled. "The ... the devil has the people by the throat. Joaquin and I - we had to try. We did not want our children to grow up in such a country."  
  
"So, you're trying for Europe," Dick said, raising a hand to rub his temple.  
  
"Yes, sir - but we have so little money, and getting here was so hard..." She fought for control of herself. Dick watched her, not letting himself imagine what they may have had to go through. "Then Captain Drake sees us - and he is so kind. He wants to help us."  
  
"Yeah, I'll bet," Dick said, a touch of sarcasm in his words.  
  
"He says he can get us exit visas - but we have no money."  
  
"Does he know that?" Dick asked her.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And he is still willing to give you a visa?"  
  
"Yes," but the tears were back, threatening even harder.  
  
"And you want to know...?" Dick said.  
  
"Will he keep his word?" she asked.  
  
Dick gave a deep sigh, "He always has."  
  
She nodded and her eyes closed, her head bowing. "Sir," she said softly, " You are a man. If someone loved you very much so that your happiness was all she wanted in the world. And ... and she did a bad thing to make certain of it - could you forgive her?"  
  
As he'd listened to her words, his eyes darkened, becoming drenched in pain. His mouth turned down at the corners as he said tightly, "No one's ever loved me that much."  
  
She didn't see, even as she looked up, asking desperately. "And he never knew. The girl kept this bad thing locked away in her heart. That would be all right, wouldn't it?"  
  
Dick looked at her, his eyes now cool, "You want my advice?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Go back to Texas."  
  
Now the tears spilled over, "But if you knew... what it means to us to get to Europe - and freedom." She covered her face with her hands for a moment, "But if Joaquin should find out... he is such a boy. In some ways, I am so much older than he is..."  
  
"Yes, well, everyone in Bludhaven has problems. Yours may work out. Excuse me," Dick stood abruptly and walked away.  
  
He reached the maitre'd, and jerked the seating chart from his hand, examining it like it was vital information. Out of habit he glanced up when the café's door opened - to see Barbara - and Wayne.  
  
He would show nothing. "Good evening," he greeted them.  
  
"Here we are again," Bruce said.  
  
"I'llt ake that as a great compliment to Alfred," Dick said. He looked at Barbara, "I suppose he means to you - Gotham and happier times."  
  
"Yes," but her tone was non-committal. "May we have a table close to him?" She avoided Dick's gaze.  
  
"And as far from Major Dent as possible," Bruce added.  
  
"Well, the geography may be a little difficult to arrange," he looked around the room. "Donna, table 30."  
  
"This way," Donna smiled pleasantly and led them across the room.  
  
Dick followed right behind them, saying, "I'll have Alfred play 'As Time Goes By'. I believe that's your favorite tune."  
  
"Thank you," Barbara said curtly.  
  
Dick stopped as they passed Alfred, bending to quietly make the request. Alfred looked briefly from Barbara's back to Dick, shook his head slightly and began to play.  
  
Dick headed for the casino, entering just as Roy was setting up another round of roulette.  
  
"Place your bets. Get the chips down, folks, 'cause here we go. Place your bets."  
  
Dick circled the table, examining each of the players - there.  
  
The young man looked devastated and more than a little helpless. His stack of chips was pitifully small.  
  
"Do you want to place another bet, sir?" Roy asked him.  
  
"No," he said, head bowed. "No, I... I guess not."  
  
Dick leaned over his shoulder, "Tried 22 tonight?" He was aware the young woman he'd spoken to had come to stand just a few feet away. Dick looked at Roy, "I said 22."  
  
Roy just spun the wheel, as the young man pushed all his chips onto the square marked 22. Roy dropped the ball onto the spinning wheel. Everyone watched it roll round and round - and skip over several slots to land in 22.  
  
The young man looked unbelieving as he was handed three times the number of chips he'd had before. His young wife's eyes widened as she looked at Dick. Donna Troy smiled as she crossed the room, throwing a loving glance at her boss. And Tim Drake looked over, frowning.  
  
"Leave it there," Dick told the young man. This drew a brief stare from Roy, but he just sighed and spun the wheel, hiding his bemused frown as the ball again landed in slot 22.  
  
As the young man was handed a pile of chips to big for him to carry alone, Dick said, "Cash it in and don't come back." He straightened and moved away, passing the young woman without a glance.  
  
An observant patron stopped Donna as she passed, "Listen, are you sure this place is honest?"  
  
"Honest?" she drew herself up indignantly. "As honest as the day is long."  
  
Dick crossed behind Roy as he spun the wheel and dropped the ball for the next round.  
  
"How are we doing tonight?" Dick asked.  
  
"Well, a couple of thousand less than I thought there would be," Roy replied sardonically, under his breath.  
  
Dick just grinned and headed for the door. He was stopped though by a soft hand on his arm. He turned.  
  
"Sir... Dick," the young woman said, her eyes brimming over a worshipful smile, "I... I..." She shook her head, threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek.  
  
Dick stiffened, then reached to disengage her hands from his neck. "Just a lucky guy," he said.  
  
She smiled and nodded, then went to join her husband.  
  
This was all more than Tim Drake could stand. He rose to follow Dick. The young couple intercepted him.  
  
Joaquin pulled out the money he'd just won, "Captain Drake..."  
  
"Not here," Tim said pleasantly. "We'll do everything tomorrow morning at my office."  
  
"Yes, thank you," Joaquin said eagerly. "We'll be there at six."  
  
"I'll be there at ten," Tim replied. "I'm very happy for both of you. I'll see you in the morning." He gave them a small, crisp bow and headed for Dick.  
  
"As I suspected," he said. Dick turned as he spoke. "You're a rank sentimentalist."  
  
"Yeah, why?" Dick said, hiding a grin.  
  
"Why do you feel the need to interfere in my little romances?" Tim demanded with put-on anger.  
  
"Put it down as a gesture to love," Dick said, irony thick in his voice.  
  
"Well, I'll forgive you this time. But I'll be in tomorrow night with a breathtaking blonde," Tim warned. "And it will make me very happy if she loses." Giving alittle harrumph, he walked away.  
  
Dick shook his head, half-grinning at Tim's back. He turned - to see Bruce Wayne approaching him.  
  
"Mr. Grayson," Wayne said, "may I speak with you?"  
  
"Go ahead," Dick replied.  
  
"Is there some other place?" Bruce asked, his manner intense. "It is rather confidential."  
  
Dick's face remained neutral, "Sure. My office," he led the other man across the room and up the stairs.  
  
As soon as the door was closed, Wayne began to speak. His voice was low and compelling. "You must know how important it is that I get out of Bludhaven, Mr. Grayson." Dick did not look at him and crossed to the window, staring out it. "It has been my privilege to be one of the leaders of a great movement. You know what I have been doing," Bruce watched Dick's tense back carefully, "and what it means to the lives of thousands of people..."  
  
Dick turned, and his face was bored, "I'm not interested in politics. The problems of the world are not in my department. I'm a saloon keeper."  
  
Bruce's eyes locked with his, "My friends in the underground tell me you have quite a record. You ran guns to Quebec. You fought the Fascists in Mexico..."  
  
"What of it?" Dick asked, his eyes inscrutable.  
  
"Strange," Bruce said, "how you always seem to be fighting on the side of the underdog."  
  
"Yes," Dick turned and walked a few steps away, "and I found that a very expensive hobby too - but then I never was much a of a businessman."  
  
Bruce went to stand beside him, "Are you enough of a businessman to appreciate an offer of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?"  
  
"I appreciate it," Dick said, turning to face him, "but I don't accept it."  
  
"I'll make it five hundred thousand."  
  
"My friend, you could make it a million or three, my answer would still be the same," Dick said, slipping his hands into his pockets and leaning easily on the desk.  
  
"There must be some reason why you won't let me have them," Wayne said forcefully.  
  
"There is," Dick said, his unreadable eyes never leaving the other man's face. "I suggest you ask your wife."  
  
Bruce's eyes went to laser intensity in an instant, "I beg your pardon?"  
  
"I said," Dick straightened, facing the man square on, "Ask your wife."  
  
For a moment their gazes warred, then the sound of a loud staccato rhythm from the main room made Dick turn for the door as Wayne said softly, "Barbara?"  
  
Dick emerged on the small landing overlooking the café's dining room and saw that the Reichsarmy officers had commandeered Alfred's piano and were loudly singing the army's victory march. His eyes moved over the crowd, seeing bowed heads, clenched fists, hatred burning in dozens of gazes. One couple rose suddenly, the woman in quiet near- hysteria as the sounds of the vicious victory cries resounded throughout the room. They skirted the room and exited quickly.  
  
Bruce was standing behind him. He hadn't heard the man, but he could feel him there - like a black whirlpool of rage. Dick barely looked as Bruce moved past him, down the stairs.  
  
At the table, Barbara watched Bruce stride across the room toward the orchestra. Fear and pride warred on her face.  
  
Bruce stopped before the musicians. "Play 'My Country Tis of Thee'."  
  
Most avoided his fierce, black gaze, but one or two clenched their hands on their instruments and looked about to jump to their feet, but frightened glances at the Army officers kept them still.  
  
"Play it!" Bruce commanded.  
  
The band leader looked over Wayne's shoulder where Dick stood several feet behind him. Dick gave a small nod.  
  
The band rose and began to play against the still pounding military march coming from the other end of the room.  
  
Bruce began the words in a ringing baritone. In a moment he was joined by a few other voices, and then a few more.  
  
"Sweet land of Liberty  
Of Thee I sing.  
Land where my fathers died."  
  
Then the room was standing, voices shouting the words, drowning out the small group of officers.  
  
"From every mountainside,  
LET FREEDOM RING!"  
  
"Free America! Free America!" People shouted around the room as a wave of fierce hope and pride swelled. Hands pounded tables, feet stomped.  
  
"FREE AMERICA!"  
  
Major Dent's face was red with fury as he marched past the clapping, shouting crowd to Tim Drake.  
  
"Do you see?" he demanded, voice tight with rage. "If Wayne's presence can inspire this unfortunate demonstration what more will his presence in Bludhaven bring on? I want - " he stopped speaking and controlled himself, "I advise that that this café be closed immediately."  
  
"But everyone's having such a good time," Tim said, unable to keep a wicked grin off his face.  
  
"Yes," Dent hissed. "Much too good a time. This place is to be closed."  
  
Tim frowned, "But I have no excuse."  
  
"Find one!" Dent stalked off.  
  
Tim sighed and finished his drink. Then he walked to the center of the room and blew his alarm whistle. The shrill noise sliced through the room, bringing silence.  
  
"Everyone is to leave immediately," he announced loudly. "This café is to be closed until further notice. Clear the room at once!"  
  
The crowd buzzed in confusion, but began moving as police officers deployed around the room.  
  
Dick strode furiously over to Tim, "How can you close me up? On what grounds?"  
  
Tim looked him straight in the eye without flinching, "I am shocked - shocked - to find out gambling is going on here."  
  
Just at that moment, Roy appeared at Tim's shoulder. "Your roulette winnings, sir," he said, handing Tim several bills.  
  
"Yes, thank you very much," Tim took them and marched past Dick's angry stare.  
  
Major Dent watched the exiting crowd with satisfaction and spied Barbara standing alone. He approached her.  
  
"Miss Gordon, after this disturbance it is not safe for Bruce Wayne to remain in Bludhaven," he told her, with a cold, formal air.  
  
She raised her chin, "This morning you implied it was not safe for him to leave."  
  
"That is also true, except for one destination." Dent's eyes bored into hers, "To Washington D.C."  
  
"Washington? The enemy capitol?" she said, eyes narrowing.  
  
"Yes, under safe conduct from me."  
  
"And of what value is that?" she spat. "We recall too well what Reichsarmy guarantees have been worth in the past."  
  
"There are only two other alternatives for you," he told her, leaning over her, his eyes deathly cold.  
  
"What are they?" Barbara asked, her face set, refusing to give an inch.  
  
"It is possible the Bludhaven authorities may find a reason to put him in the prison camp here," Dent said.  
  
Barbara's eyes were unflinching, "And the other?"  
  
"Miss Gordon, perhaps you have already observed that in Bludhaven - human life is cheap. Good night." He turned and walked away.  
  
Bruce approached her from across the room. She went to meet him. "What happened with Dick?" she asked urgently.  
  
He took her arm and turned for the exit, "We'll discuss it later."  
  
* * * * *  
  
They returned to their hotel room, Bruce crossing immediately to the window to lower the shade, his keen eyes picking out the man who'd been following them. He was hidden in the shadows of a doorway across the street. Barbara came to stand beside him.  
  
"Our faithful friend is still there," Bruce said in an ironic tone.  
  
"Bruce, we shouldn't go to the underground meeting tonight. Not tonight, after all this," she said.  
  
"I must."  
  
"After Major Dent's threat..."  
  
He turned to her, "Should I stay here? Hide? Or should I carry on as best I can?"  
  
She smiled a little," whatever I say, you will carry on." Then her face went serious, "Bruce, why won't you tell me about Dick? What did you find out?" He never kept anything from her, and she didn't like how utterly calm he was. She felt dread clawing at her stomach.  
  
He answered her quietly, "Apparently he has the letters. But no intention of selling them. One would think if sentiment wouldn't persuade him - money would. But neither did."  
  
She turned away, bowing her head just enough that her hair fell and hid her face, "Did he give you a reason?"  
  
"He suggested I ask you."  
  
"What?" she turned wide green eyes on him.  
  
"He said, ask your wife," Bruce gazed at her steadily. "I don't know why he said that."  
  
Barbara turned and moved away quickly, finally sinking down to sit on the edge of the bed. Bruce watched her, not showing how her obvious pain cut him. He crossed the room and shut out the lights before coming to sit beside her. She did not look at him.  
  
"By now our friend outside will think we've retired for the night. I'll be going in a few minutes, but perhaps you should stay in," he said quietly. She nodded absently, though her mind was racing. There was a long moment of silence between them in the shadowed room.  
  
"Barbara," Bruce's voice was very low, "when I was in the prison camp," he stopped, and her eyes closed briefly. She knew how difficult this was for him. "Were you alone in Gotham?" he finally asked.  
  
If she was still breathing, she was not aware of it. She heard herself answer, "Yes, Bruce, I was."  
  
Another heart-breaking silence, then he said, "I know what it is to be lonely. If there's anything you want to tell me..."  
  
"No, Bruce, there isn't," she said, but still she could not look at him.  
  
She barely heard him, "I love you, Barbara."  
  
Her eyes turned to him, and she raised her hand to tenderly touch the scar that marked his face. She smiled, but her eyes were full of tears. "Yes, I know, Bruce," she whispered. A spasm crossed her brow and her eyes dropped. "Whatever I do, will you believe that I... that I..."  
  
"You don't even have to say it," he told her. "I'll believe."  
  
Her eyes closed as he lifted her chin gently and kissed her lips. Then he rose and moved to the door.  
  
"Bruce!" she ran to him. "Please," she whispered, looking at him with fearful eyes, "be careful."  
  
He touched her cheek, "Of course I will." And she let him go. As soon as the door closed she moved quickly to the window where she watched the man who'd been following them to make certain he remained unaware of Bruce's exit. When five minutes passed without movement, she turned, picked up her keys and slipped out the door into the night.  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
"Well," Donna said, finishing the tallies, "you're really in pretty good shape, Dick."  
  
"How long can I afford to stay closed?" he asked.  
  
"Two weeks, maybe three," she told him.  
  
"Maybe I won't have to - a bribe has worked before," he said, running a hand through his thick hair. "In the meantime, everyone stays on salary."  
  
She smiled at him, "Thanks, Boss. I'm glad to hear it." She added lightly, "Roy owes me money."  
  
He chuckled as she closed the ledger and stood. "Finish locking up, will you?" he said.  
  
"Sure, then I'm going to the meet - "  
  
"Don't tell me where you're going," Dick said, but he had to hide the concern in his eyes.  
  
She just nodded. Dick got up and headed for the stairs to his office.  
  
"Night, Donna."  
  
"Good night, Dick," she said, reaching for the light switches. The café plunged into darkness.  
  
Dick climbed the shadowed staircase, opening the door to his office, hand going to the lamp and flipping it on.  
  
He stopped. Barbara stood at the window. She turned to face him. He forced himself to keep his breathing calm, to show nothing.  
  
He walked across the room, stopping in the center, "How did you get in here?"  
  
She seemed to him to be shimmering around the edges, though he knew it was a trick of the moonlight spilling over her from the windows.  
  
Her voice was edgy, her body as tight as a bowstring about to snap, "The stairs from the street."  
  
He slipped a hand into his pocket and leaned on the desk, "I told you this morning you'd come around, but this is a little ahead of schedule." She didn't move, just stared at him, her eyes a little wide, tension crawling all over her. "Well," he said as if were Sunday afternoon tea, "won't you sit down?"  
  
She crossed quickly, coming to stand a few feet away, "Richard, I had to see you."  
  
"So, it's Richard again - we're back in Gotham," he'd tensed when she came near, holding himself tightly under control, but his words were deliberately hard.  
  
"Richard, please..."  
  
"Your unexpected visit wouldn't have anything to do with those letters of transit?" His deep blue eyes were piercing, merciless. "It seems as long as I have those letters - I'll never be lonely."  
  
She met his gaze fiercely, "You can ask any price you want, but you must give me those letters."  
  
He shook his head slowly, "I went all through that with - your husband. No deal."  
  
She bit her lip, "I understand how you feel about me," her voice quavered, "but I'm asking you to put your feelings aside for something more important - "  
  
"Do I have to hear again," he asked, sounding bored, "what a great man your husband is? What an important cause he's fighting for?"  
  
"It used to be your cause too! You once fought for the same thing!"  
  
"I'm not fighting for anything any more - except myself." He straightened, looking right into her eyes, *I'm* the only cause I'm interested in." He watched that sink in with a black satisfaction, before he turned and crossed to the window.  
  
Barbara was shocked for a moment, stunned into speechlessness by the utter lack of compassion she'd seen in his face. No! She would not believe that of him!  
  
She went after him, starting to reach and touch his shoulder as she came close, but stopping the movement.  
  
"Richard," she said softly, stepping up beside him, looking at his face, silvered in the moonlight and cut down the middle by a shadow from a glass pane. "We loved each other once. If those days mean anything at all to you - "  
  
His head snapped around, "I wouldn't bring up Gotham if I were you." Than he pulled back on his anger and finished with his previous causal air, "It's poor salesmanship."  
  
"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking, "Please, listen to me. If you only knew what really happened then. If you only knew the truth!" She had to shut her eyes tight to keep the tears back.  
  
His voice was drenched in cold anger, "I wouldn't believe you no matter what you told me. You'd say anything now to get what you want." He tore his eyes away from her and moved back into the room.  
  
Her voice came cracking out like a whip, dripping scorn, "You want to feel sorry for yourself, don't you?" She followed him, relentless, "With so much at stake, all you can think of is your own feelings! One woman has hurt you and you'll take your revenge on the rest of the world!" He'd turned to face her, "You're a coward!" Tears were overcoming her. She closed her eyes, her whole body trembling. Dick took a half-step toward her and forced himself to stop, forced himself not to show how much he wanted to take her in his arms. No, he reminded himself. She would never get another chance to hurt him.  
  
Her eyes opened and she fiercely wiped the tears form her cheeks. "Richard, please," she begged. "You are our last hope. If you don't help us, Bruce Wayne will die in Bludhaven."  
  
"What of it?" he shrugged, knowing how cruel his words were. "I'm going to die in Bludhaven - it's a good place for it."  
  
She stared at him, horrified at his callousness. He turned away from her eyes, pretending to examine a decorative box on his desk. Why didn't she go? Couldn't she see there was nothing left of - the man she'd once loved?  
  
He couldn't stand it. He looked up.  
  
She faced him - with a gun pointed at his heart.  
  
"All right, I tried to reason with you," she said, "I tried everything. Now, I want those letters." She felt her hand tremble and steadied it through force of will. "Get them."  
  
"I don't have to," he said. He touched his jacket's breast. "I have them right here."  
  
"Put them on the desk," she ordered.  
  
He didn't move for a long moment. Then a slow, infinitely sad smile touched his lips. He shook his head, "No."  
  
"For the last time," but her voice was trembling and she couldn't stop it. Please, Richard, she cried in her mind, don't make me... "Put them on the desk."  
  
"If Wayne and the cause mean so much to you," he said, "you won't stop at anything."  
  
She seemed frozen, her eyes wide, her breath stopped.  
  
"Here, I'll make it easy for you," he said, and his voice was rough, raw - as he stepped forward. He couldn't look away from her eyes - and he knew he couldn't hide anything from her any more. He didn't stop moving until the gun barrel rested against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat through the metal. "Go ahead and shoot. You'll be doing me a favor."  
  
Her hand began to shake violently and the gun fell to the floor with a heavy thud.  
  
"I... tried," she said in a quivering voice, "tried to... forget you. I thought I would never ... see you again." A single, glittering tear ran down her cheek. "Richard," she whispered.  
  
She was in his arms, clinging to him and he held her tight, burying his face in her fragrant hair.  
  
"The day you left Gotham," she whispered, her hot tears falling on his neck, "If you knew what I went through..."  
  
He looked at her, unbelieving, all he'd thought, these many years, but he saw it in her eyes, that she was telling the truth. He saw what it had cost her to leave him, how it had killed her but she had done it, she had...  
  
Her fingers caressed his face, her body shaking against his. "If you knew how much I loved you. How much I - still love you."  
  
He kissed her, he was kissing her again, and nothing in the world mattered - because she loved him. She loved him as much as he loved her, and still she did what had to be done.  
  
He sat her down and made her tell him everything - her whole life that he had never known. Should he be surprised, he wondered, because he wasn't. He had fallen in love with her fierce spirit without having to know what she could do, what she had done. She told of joining the early underground when the Reichsarmy had blasted out of California, spreading north and south until it could squeeze the United States in a vise. She had met and married Bruce, already a veteran leader, one of the first organizers.  
  
"And then?" he asked.  
  
"It was not long after we were married in Boulder that he was called back to Gotham. They needed him - but the Reichsarmy was waiting for him. There was just a two line item in the paper "Bruce Wayne apprehended. Sent to prison camp." Her fists clenched and she looked down. "I was frantic and went straight to Gotham, for months trying to find some clue to where he was, how to get him out. Then word came. He was dead. Shot trying to escape. I had... nothing. Not even hope." She looked up, reaching for his hand, "And then I met you."  
  
"Why weren't you honest with me?" he asked, though he suspected he knew. "Why did you keep your marriage a secret?"  
  
"Bruce wouldn't let anyone know. Not even our closest friends," she explained. "It was his way of protecting me. I am so close to his work, I know so much. If the Reichsarmy found out I was his wife, it would be dangerous for me, and those working with us."  
  
"And when did you find out he was alive?"  
  
She closed her eyes for a moment, pain crossing her fine features, "Just before you and I were to leave Gotham together, a friend came and told me Bruce was alive. They were hiding him in a freight car on the outskirts of Gotham. He was sick, near death. He needed me." Her green eyes went desperately to him, "I couldn't tell you. I knew you wouldn't leave Gotham and the Reichsarmy would have caught you, so I ...well," her voice broke, "you know the rest.'  
  
Even as his heart ached for the choice she had been forced to make, he was amazed at her strength, her ... nobility.  
  
"It's still a story without an ending," he said quietly. "What about now?"  
  
"Now? I ... I don't know." She looked up at him, "I know I'll never have the strength to leave you again."  
  
"And - Wayne?"  
  
"You'll help him now, won't you, Richard? You'll see that he gets out, and then he'll have his work, all that he's been living for..."  
  
"All except one," he said, reaching to pull her close. "He won't have you."  
  
"I can't ..." she whispered against his chest, "I ran away from you once - I can't do it again." Her arms tightened around him, "I don't know what's right any longer."  
  
He couldn't stand to see her so torn. "Barbara, I'll figure this out. I'm going to take care of all of this." She looked up at him, breaking his heart with her smile, "Here's ... looking at you, Red."  
  
"I love you so much, Richard."  
  
* * * * *   
  
On the street outside the café, two shadows slipped around a corner, then sprinted across to duck into the back alleyway beside the club.  
  
A car screeched around the block and sped down the street.  
  
"I think we lost them," Bruce said softly. "But they may have caught some of the others."  
  
"In here," Donna said, leading him into a delivery entrance. "I'll clean that up."  
  
Inside the café they moved to the bar, Donna saying worriedly, "Get some water, tear up some dishtowels for bandages..."  
  
In the office above, Dick and Barbara stood at the sounds of movement in the café, going to the door. Dick automatically shut off the light before cracking the door to look out. He saw who it was.  
  
"Stay here," he whispered and stepped out onto the landing.  
  
Donna and Bruce looked up, Donna looking relieved to see Dick. Bruce's face was unreadable.  
  
"Donna, what happened?" Dick called down.  
  
"The police broke up our meeting," she told him. "We barely escaped," she nodded at Wayne's wound.  
  
"Come up here," Dick said. "I want you to put out the light in the rear entrance. It might attract the police."  
  
Donna looked puzzled but came, "But Wally always puts out that light."  
  
"Tonight he forgot," Dick said tightly. He met her at the top of the stairs and brought her into the office.  
  
Donna's eyes widened as she saw Barbara.  
  
"Go with her, Donna. You know the back ways. Make sure she gets back to her hotel safely," he said quietly.  
  
She looked from him to Barbara, understanding dawning in her eyes. Nodding, she led Barbara to the back stairs.  
  
Dick turned and moved down the stairs, crossing to Bruce who was wrapping his hand in a makeshift bandage.  
  
He saw Dick looking at it. "Just a scratch," he said, though blood soaked the towel.  
  
"Had a close one?" Dick said.  
  
"Yes, rather," Bruce replied.  
  
"Do you ever ask yourself if it's worth all this?" Dick asked. "I mean, what you're fighting for?"  
  
Bruce's black gaze fixed on him. His deep voice was unyielding, "You might as well question why we breathe. If we stop breathing, we will die. If we stop fighting, the world will die."  
  
"What of it?" Dick said, with a small shrug. "It'd be putting it out of it's misery."  
  
"Do you know how you sound, Dick?" Bruce asked him, still holding his eyes with that implacable gaze. "Like a man trying to convince himself of something he does not believe. Each of us has a destiny - for good, or for evil."  
  
"Yeah, I get your point," Dick said.  
  
"I wonder if you do," Bruce countered. "I wonder if you realize you are trying to escape - from yourself. And that you will never succeed."  
  
Dick raised an eyebrow, not allowing the man's force of personality to overpower him. "You seem to know all about my destiny," he said easily and turned away.  
  
"I know a good deal more about you than you suspect," Bruce said quietly. "I know, for instance," and his voice remained utterly calm, "that you are in love with a woman. By strange circumstance, we should both happen to be in love with the same woman." Slowly Dick turned back to face him. "The first evening we came to the café I knew there was something between you and Barbara. Since no one is to blame - I need no explanation."  
  
The moment passing between the two men was something Dick had never experienced before. As he listened to the other man speak, as he watched his face, he felt a kinship so deep it frightened him.  
  
"You won't give me the letters of transit, Dick, and that's fine." Still, Bruce spoke reasonably, but Dick caught the dark flicked behind that carefully neutral mask, "But I want Barbara to be safe. I ask you as a favor - to use those letters to take her away from Bludhaven."  
  
"You love her that much?" Dick asked.  
  
Muscles tightened along Bruce's jaw, but it was his only display of emotion, "Yes, I love her that much."  
  
Both men looked up suddenly as cars screeched up outside. Officers burst into the café, weapons drawn.  
  
"Bruce Wayne. We have a warrant for your arrest."  
  
"On what grounds?" he demanded.  
  
The police raised their guns to his head, "Captain Drake will discuss that with you." The lead officer gestured with his gun.  
  
Dick watched, his face expressionless. "It seems destiny has taken a hand," he said, as they led Bruce away.  
  
* * * * *   
  
The next morning Dick was in Drake's office.  
  
"You haven't any real proof and you know it," he was telling Tim. "This isn't Reich territory. All you can do is fine him a few thousand dollars, and give him thirty days. You might as well let him go now."  
  
Tim narrowed his eyes," Dick, I'd advise you not to be too interested in what happens to Wayne. If by any chance you should try to help him to escape..." Tim let the sentence hang.  
  
"What makes you think I'd stick my neck out for Wayne?" Dick asked, sitting back and regarding Tim easily.  
  
"One, you bet ten thousand dollars he'd escape," Tim grinned. Then his eyes sharpened, "Two, you have the letters of transit." He held up his hand, "Don't bother trying to deny it. Or you might do it simply because you don't like Dent's looks - as a matter of fact," Tim said as if were just occurring to him, "I don't like them either."  
  
Dick chuckled, "All good reasons."  
  
Tim sobered for a moment, "Don't count too much on my friendship, Dickster. In this situation I am powerless. Besides," and his eyes twinkled, "I might lose the ten thousand dollars."  
  
"You're not very subtle, Tim - but you are effective," Dick said. If he ever understood his and Tim's relationship it was in this moment. They each were what they were and they knew that about each other, even relied on it. He felt the slightest twinge of guilt. "I get your point," he said. Then he fixed Tim with a very serious gaze. "Yes. I have the letters, and I'm using them myself. I'm leaving Bludhaven on tonight's plane, the last plane." Dick leaned forward, "And I'm taking a friend with me - one you'll appreciate."  
  
Tim was shocked to hear any of this, "What friend?"  
  
"Barbara Gordon. That should put your mind to rest about my helping Wayne escape," He said firmly.  
  
Now Tim raised an eyebrow, "Why are you telling me this? You have the letters of transit. You can fill in the names and leave any time. Why are you still interested in what happens to Wayne?"  
  
"I'm not, but I am interested in what happens to Barbara and me," Dick told him. "We have a legal right to go, that's true. But people have been held in Bludhaven in spite of their legal rights."  
  
"What makes you think we'd want to hold you?" Tim asked.  
  
"Barbara is Wayne's wife," Dick said calmly. "She knows things Dent would like to know." Tim was watching carefully as he said, "Tim, I'll make a deal with you. What if, instead of this petty charge you have on him, you get him for something really big - that will chuck him in a prison camp for years. It'd be quite a feather in your cap, wouldn't it?"  
  
"It certainly would be. Washington would be very impressed."  
  
"Release him," Dick said. "Be at my place a half-hour before the plane leaves. I'll have Wayne meet me there to pick up the letters of transit and that will give you the criminal grounds on which to make the arrest. You get him - and we get away. To the Reich that last will be just a minor annoyance."  
  
Tim's eyes gleamed appreciatively at the elegance of the plan, then he cocked an eyebrow, "There's still one thing about all this that I don't quite understand. Ms. Gordon, she is very beautiful - but I've never know you to show this kind of interest in any woman."  
  
Dick looked at him, "She's not just any woman."  
  
"Huh," Tim said, not quite believing it. "How do I know you'll keep your end of the bargain?"  
  
"I'll make the arrangements with him right now in the visitors' pen."  
  
Tim chuckled and shook his head, "Dickie, I'm going to miss you. Apparently you're the only one in Bludhaven with even less scruples than I."  
  
"Yeah, thanks," Dick said with a sardonic grin. He rose and headed for the door. Then he paused, "Oh, and call off your watchdogs. I don't want them around this afternoon. I'm taking no chances, Timmy, not even with you."  
  
* * * * *  
  
He went next to the Blockbuster to see Desmond.  
  
"Should we draw up papers?" Desmond asked, beaming, "Or is a handshake good enough?"  
  
"Certainly not good enough, but since I'm in a hurry it will have to do," Dick replied.  
  
"Ah, to get out of Bludhaven - you're a lucky man," Desmond said  
  
"By the way, my agreement with Alfred has always been that he gets twenty-five percent of the profit," Dick told him. "That still goes."  
  
Desmond chuckled, "I happen to know he gets ten - but he's worth twenty-five."  
  
"And Donna, Wally and Roy stay with the place or I don't sell."  
  
"Of course, Dick's wouldn't be Dick's without them," Desmond agreed.  
  
Dick nodded. They shook on it.  
  
* * * * *  
  
It was time. Dick looked up at the knock on the café door. He folded the letters of transit and tucked them into his breast pocket.  
  
Crossing the room quickly, he let Tim in.  
  
"You're late," Dick said.  
  
"I was informed just as Wayne left the hotel," Tim brushed him off. "I knew I'd be on time."  
  
"I thought I asked you to tie up your watchdogs," Dick frowned and led him through the room.  
  
"Don't worry, he won't be followed here." Tim looked around the empty café. "You know this place will never be the same without you, Dick," he clapped Dick on the shoulder with a grin.  
  
"Yeah, I know what you mean," Dick said, with a sideways glance, "I've already spoken to Desmond. You'll still win at roulette."  
  
Tim chuckled, then asked, "Is everything ready?"  
  
Dick touched his jacket, "I have the letters right here."  
  
Tim gave him a narrowed glance, "When my men searched the place - where were they?"  
  
Dick nodded to the piano at Tim's elbow, "In Alfred's piano."  
  
Tim stared at the instrument, then shrugged, "Serves me right for not being musical."  
  
Both men turned at the sound of a soft knock at the door.  
  
"That's them," Dick said. "Wait in my office."  
  
Tim nodded, and disappeared up the stairs as Dick crossed to the door.  
  
Barbara was there. He saw Wayne at the curb paying the taxi driver.  
  
Barbara stepped in, speaking rapidly, almost frantically, "Richard, Bruce thinks I'm leaving with his. Haven't you told him?"  
  
"No, not yet," he said.  
  
"But it's all right? You were able to arrange everything?"  
  
"Everything's fine. It's all taken care of. We'll tell him at the airport," he said quietly. "The less time to think, the easier it will be for all of us." He put his palm to her cheek gently. "Please, trust me."  
  
Her eyes shone, "I will."  
  
They turned as Bruce entered, closing the door softly behind him.  
  
"I've brought the money, Dick," Bruce said.  
  
"Keep it," Dick replied. "You'll need it."  
  
Bruce looked a little surprised, "We made a deal."  
  
"Never mind that," Dick reached into his pocket and brought out the letters. "Here they are, all made out but for the names." He handed the papers to Bruce.  
  
"Bruce Wayne," all three looked up to see Tim Drake step out of the shadows. "You are under arrest," He crossed to Wayne and Barbara. Dick backed up. "On the charge of accessory to the murders of the couriers from whom these letters were stolen." Tim took them from Bruce's hand. He noted their shocked expressions, looking at Dick who was watching from behind him. "You're surprised about my friend, Dick." He grinned. "The explanation is simple. Love it seems has triumphed over virtue..." he stopped speaking as he turned to face - the barrel of a gun.  
  
"Not so fast, Timmy," Dick said, his voice low and dangerous. "Nobody's going to be arrested. Not for awhile yet."  
  
Tim's eyes had widened at the sight of the gun and now he stared intensely at Dick, "Have you taken leave of your senses?"  
  
"I have," Dick smiled a chilling smile. "Sit down over there," he gestured at a table.  
  
"Put that gun down," Tim said, stepping forward.  
  
Dick cocked the gun's hammer, "Tim, I wouldn't like to shoot you - but I will if you take one more step."  
  
Tim judged the seriousness in Dick's eyes. "Under the circumstances I will sit down." He backed up two steps and sat, without taking his eyes off Dick.  
  
"Keep your hands on the table," Dick said quietly.  
  
"I suppose you know what you're doing," Tim said. "But I wonder if you realize what this means."  
  
"I do," Dick told him. "And we'll have plenty of time to discuss it later."  
  
Barbara took a step toward Dick, but he kept his eyes, and the gun, on Tim.  
  
"Call off your watchdogs, you said," Tim was shaking his head at his own gullibility - or Dick's cleverness - one.  
  
"Call the airport and let me hear you tell them," Dick said. "And remember this gun is pointed right at your heart."  
  
"That," Tim raised an eyebrow, "is my least vulnerable spot." He picked up the phone and dialed. Dick reached over slowly and picked up the letters of transit from the table. Bruce and Barbara watched the whole scene, both tense and ready to move, but trusting Dick in what he was doing.  
  
"Hello, Bludhaven airport?" Tim said.  
  
At the other end of the line, Major Dent said, "What?"  
  
Tim went on, "This is Captain Drake. There are two letters of transit for the last plane. I want no trouble about them." He paused. "Good." And hung up.  
  
Major Dent looked at the phone as the dial tone buzzed. Then he slammed the receiver down, lifted it again and dialed rapidly.  
  
"I want a squad of police to meet me at the airport immediately!" he ordered. Then he stood and ran for his car.  
  
* * * * *  
  
At Bludhaven's small airport, the last plane was finishing preparations for its flight when Captain Drake's car pulled up just outside the hangar. The guard on duty went to meet it, snapping to attention.  
  
Dick got out right behind Tim, one hand still in the pocket of his trenchcoat keeping the gun trained on Tim.  
  
"Have your man go with Mr. Wayne and take care of their bags, Tim," Dick said.  
  
"Of course, Dick, anything you say." He turned and gave the order. Bruce stopped for a moment to look at the two men, then gave Dick a small nod and moved off with the guard.  
  
Barbara watched them disappear into the foggy night.  
  
Dick pulled out the letters of transit and handed them to Tim, "You fill out the names. That will make it even more official."  
  
Tim took the papers and moved to a small desk nearby. "You think of everything, don't you?" he asked, sarcastically.  
  
Dick looked at Barbara, who smiled a little at him. It took every ounce of his strength to say the next words, "And the names are Bruce Wayne and Barbara Gordon."  
  
Her eyes went wide, "What?"  
  
He went to her, "You're getting on that plane."  
  
"What about you?"  
  
"I'm staying here with him," he nodded at Tim, "Until the plane gets safely away."  
  
"No! No, Richard! What are you talking about?" her face was desperate. "Last night we said - "  
  
"Last night," he stopped her, "we said a great many things. You said you didn't know what was right - but I do. And what is right is you getting on that plane with Bruce where you belong."  
  
"No," her hands clutched his arms. He could see her heart breaking in her eyes, "No, Richard - "  
  
"You've got to listen to me," Dick said, his eyes intense on her, "do you have any idea what would happen to you if you stay here? Nine out of ten we'd both end up in a prison camp." He turned to Tim," Isn't that true?"  
  
"I'm afraid Major Dent will insist," Tim replied. Dick going noble, he thought. The world certainly was full of surprises.  
  
"You are saying this only to make me go," she said. He couldn't mean it - not when they'd found each other again after so long.  
  
"I'm saying it because it's true!" he said. "Inside of us we both know you belong with Bruce. You're part of his work, what keeps him going. And it's your work too - if that plane leaves the ground and you're not on it, you'll regret it -"  
  
"No," but she was pleading now, knowing he was right.  
  
"Maybe not today," he went on, "maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life."  
  
"But," Barbara said in a trembling whisper, "what about us?"  
  
"We'll always have Gotham," he said, and though it took everything he had, he managed to bring his old grin to his face. "We didn't... we'd lost it until you came to Bludhaven. We got it back last night."  
  
Her hand touched his cheek, "I said I would never leave you."  
  
He covered her hand with his, "And you never will." She closed her eyes and they stood there a long moment, just touching. Finally, he pulled back, "I have a job to do too," he told her. "Barbara, I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world."  
  
She looked up at him, eyes shining with her love.  
  
"Here's looking at you, Red," he whispered.  
  
She lifted her lips to his for one last, lingering kiss.  
  
Breaking form her, Dick went to Tim and took the completed letters. So lost was he in his own emotions, Dick did not see the rather wondering look Tim gave him. Or the look of worry that crossed Tim's face as Dick turned to meet Bruce, just returning.  
  
Dick gave him the letters of transit. Barbara had her back to both of them.  
  
"Everything's in order," Bruce said.  
  
"Except one thing," Dick said, meeting his eyes. "There's something you should know before you leave."  
  
He saw understanding in Bruce's gaze, "Dick, you don't have to explain anything."  
  
"I'm going to anyway," he said, "because it may make a difference to you later on. You said you knew about Barbara and me."  
  
"Yes," Bruce said.  
  
"What you didn't know was she was at my place last night when you were. She came for the letters of transit." He turned to her as she faced them. "Isn't that true, Barbara?"  
  
She looked at him, her eyes clear, "Yes."  
  
Bruce looked at her, surprised.  
  
"She tried everything to get them and nothing worked. She did her best to convince me that she was still in love with me. But that was all over long ago." Keeping his gaze on Bruce's eyes, Dick said, "For your sake she pretended it wasn't. And I let her pretend."  
  
Bruce nodded slowly, "I understand." He held his hand out. Dick gripped it firmly.   
  
"Welcome back to the fight," Bruce said. "This time, I know our side will win." The two men stayed for a moment, eyes and hands locked.  
  
Then Bruce turned to Barbara," Are you ready?"  
  
She looked at Dick for just a moment. "Yes, I'm ready." She came to stand at Bruce's side. "Good-bye, Dick," she said softly.  
  
He swallowed hard, "Better hurry - you'll miss that plane."  
  
Bruce and Barbara turned together and disappeared into the fog.  
  
Dick's eyes closed.  
  
"Well, I was right," Tim's voice came from behind him. "You are a sentimentalist."  
  
Dick turned slowly, "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"What you just did for Wayne," Tim said, clasping his hands behind his back and looking closely at Dick. "That fairy tale you invented to send Barbara away with him. I know a thing or two about women, my friend. She went - but she knew you were lying."  
  
Dick almost smiled at him, "Anyway, thanks for helping out." He turned back to watch the plane.  
  
"This isn't going to be very pleasant for either of us - especially you," Tim said, stepping up beside him. "I'll have to arrest you, of course."  
  
"*After* the plane leaves, Tim," Dick said.  
  
The plane began to turn and pull out towards the runway. Just then, Major Dent's car screeched up and he leapt out.  
  
"What was the meaning of that phone call?" he demanded, seeing Tim.  
  
Tim nodded out at the runway, "Bruce Wayne is on that plane."  
  
Dent strode to Tim, furious and unbelieving, "Stop him! Why are you just standing there?"  
  
"Ask Dick," Tim said.  
  
Dent's head snapped to Dick, who just looked at him, his hand still in his pocket. Dent turned and went for the phone on the desk.  
  
"Get away from that phone," Dick warned, pulling out the gun.  
  
Dent's eyes widened, "You don't dare interfere!"  
  
"I was willing to shoot Captain Drake and I'm willing to shoot you."  
  
Dent grabbed for the phone, pulling his weapon from its holster. A gunshot rang out - and Dent sagged, gasping. He fell to the ground with a dull thud. Dick pushed the gun back into his coat pocket.  
  
The police squad came roaring up in two cars, jumping out, seeing Dent's body. They looked to Drake.  
  
He stepped forward. "Major Dent has been shot," he said. Tim cut his eyes to Dick. For one instant their gazes locked.  
  
Tim gave the order, "Round up the usual suspects!"  
  
The men moved quickly, picking up Dent's body and loading it into the car. They drove off.  
  
"Well, Dick," Tim said, sounding almost exasperated," you're not only a sentimentalist - you've become a patriot."  
  
Dick raised an eyebrow at him, "It seemed like a good time to start."  
  
"I think," Tim said, with a sly sideways glance, "perhaps you are right."  
  
Suddenly the plane's engines roared in the distance and Dick turned to watch as it lifted off the ground.  
  
Good-bye, my love, his mind whispered.  
  
Dick began walking and Tim fell into step beside him.  
  
"It might be a good idea for you to disappear from Bludhaven for a while," Tim said easily. "I hear there's a Free America garrison right outside of Metropolis. I could be induced to arrange a passage."  
  
Dick's eyes had stayed on the sky, but now he looked at Tim, "By letter of transit?" Tim nodded, starting to grin. "I could use a trip," Dick said. "By the way - about our bet. You owe me ten thousand dollars."  
  
"Dickster, that ten thousand should be enough to pay our expenses."  
  
" 'Our' expenses?"  
  
"Mm-hmm."  
  
"Timmy, this looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship."  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
*finis*  
  



End file.
